Chasing Thunderstorms
by Foxy'sGirl
Summary: Astrid Hofferson's life is perfect, but then she realizes that it's not even close. And there's this dorky boy in her Norse Mythology class who she shouldn't feel so strongly about. Modern AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so new story. Modern AU. It won the poll for all of you great people who voted, and I realized that I'm pretty far ahead in it so I decided to get it up there!**

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"Scott, we've got to go. I have a race tomorrow." A pretty blonde girl, about sixteen years old punches her hulking boyfriend's arm ruthlessly. The couple are in the middle of a massive throng of people, all destroying some classmates house in the course of one of those stereotypical high school parties where everyone is sloshing mysterious and doped drinks out of plastic red cups.

"Ow, Astrid. What do you think that's going to get you?" She rolls her eyes and pushes her long blonde hair behind her shoulders.

"I'm walking." She only gets a few steps from her boyfriend, before he grabs her shoulder.

"Babe, come on. You can hang out for _five minutes_. I dared Tuff to slide down the banister naked and he's doing it any second." Astrid thinks about the suggestion for a minute, before crossing her arms and tapping her wrist irritably.

"Five minutes." Scott jumps up in glee, and Astrid realizes that she has to do the driving tonight…again, because apparently part of being quarterback means out-drinking everyone.

"You won't regret it! I seriously think that he's going to break the floor with his face." The muscle-bound jock says, completely mystified, and Astrid can't help but smile, just a little. At least being surrounded by people who were all drunk off of their asses is never boring.

"If I lose tomorrow…" She threatens, but she's tired, and it lacks her threats' normally vibrant ferocity. Scott doesn't seem to notice that she wants to leave the party now, and he grabs her and kisses her soundly, ignoring how she shoves back against his chest. He releases her and turns to the dramatic banister, chanting 'Tuff, Tuff, Tuff' with all of the other drunk partygoers.

Sure enough, not a minute later, a very naked Toby 'Tuff' Thorston is bowing at the top of the stairs, before straddling the banister and slipping down it with a painful sounding squeak erupting from the junction of his very bare butt with the cool varnish of the railing. At the bottom, a fearfully stationary wooden knob introduces itself to the boy's unprotected man bits. With an undignified squeal he slips sideways onto the floor, and the entire room shakes with laughter. Tuff's twin sister Ruff, known to her parents as Gladice, has the decency to throw her jacket onto her writhing brother's painfully naked lap, before joining in the frivolity, so at least the damaged goods are no longer exposed to the elements.

Scott is completely blown away by the turn of events and he stares at the downed running back in amazement, mumbling to himself. Astrid leans in a little closer and hears his hesitant murmur of, "The floor didn't break. His junk did!"

At hearing his shocked admission, she decides that he's probably too drunk to even remember her making him leave in the morning so she grabs his wrist and starts dragging him towards the door. When he resists, wanting to talk to some random football player about something, she jerks his arm back painfully and drags him the rest of the way to his car.

He grabs her rear when she buckles him into the passenger side, thrusts into her hand lewdly when she pries the keys from the front pocket of his jeans, and spanks her suggestively when she turns to walk around to the driver's seat. Her harsh punches to his face seem to hurt her hand more than his jaw, so she ends up letting the incident go with a sigh. Yes, dating the quarterback was great. Yes, he was completely gorgeous and manly and ideal. But she did _not_ appreciate the drunken horniness that she had to deal with at almost every after game party.

Astrid ignores his busy fingers trailing up her thigh as she drives home. Somehow when she and her father had moved before freshman year, they'd managed to snag the house 2 blocks away from the dreamiest man at Berk high school. Astrid had actually met Scott Nout outside of school, because she ran by his house every weekend morning, and he couldn't keep his mouth shut about how good she looked in her running clothes. That and he kept on inviting her to use his Bowflex machine.

Well, all of his peculiarities aside, the match is really a no brainer. The star cross country athlete and the quarterback of the football team. In Astrid's opinion, it makes so much more sense than that awful cliché of the head cheerleader and the quarterback. Cross country runners are warriors, they fight and struggle and win against weakness, and always end up where they should be. And there's the whole fact that Berk's cheerleaders are all twiggy freshmen who won't stop leaving sticky, glittery lip gloss all over Scott's picture in all of the yearbooks in the school library.

Astrid pulls the car up to the curb in front of Scott's house and unbuckles herself, dropping the keys in the only cup holder not full of candy and condom wrappers. When she looks up at the boy sitting next to her, he's gazing at her heatedly, and even though she's not the slightest bit in the mood, his stare does nothing to diminish her self confidence.

"You could come inside. We could hang out in the basement." She rolls her eyes, a little tired of Scott's unoriginal code for 'hey, I'm horny, let's have sex where my parents may or may not hear it.'

"I already told you that I have a race tomorrow. I have to be at school by like eight in the morning." She gets out of the car, and her drunken companion does the same, falling unsteadily against the side of his shiny new sedan.

"How do I have to ask? Do you want me to just tell you to come and spend the night?" Astrid rolls her eyes at him, because he's drunk and stupid, and experience with this situation has taught her that sarcasm is how to deal with this.

"You don't _tell_ me to do anything." She turns and starts walking up the hill to her house, wishing the entire time that her skirt was longer, so that she could run home. Hell, she's getting home so late that running there would practically work as a warm up for her race tomorrow.

"I'll be at your race tomorrow!" Scott calls out after her, and she scoffs again. He'll be too hung-over to face his alarm clock tomorrow, let alone a crowded and sunny cross country race where there are teachers course marshalling around every corner.

When she makes it to the rusty metal cable box next to her back fence, she takes off the heinous high heels that she feels she needs to wear at these parties. Astrid deftly climbs up on top of the vandalized hunk of metal, before jumping over the fence and sprinting across her yard to the window that she left open.

After slithering through the small space, Astrid freezes, crouched awkwardly on her ancient futon, waiting for her father to move. When all is silent, she assumes that she slipped in unnoticed, and she jumps from her bed padding across the room and setting her alarm clock for 6:30. Great, that means she'll be running on four hours of sleep tomorrow when she's trying to break a course record.

She shakes her head mournfully, before pulling off her uncomfortable party clothes and crawling into bed in her underwear.

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The alarm jolts her awake far too early, and it feels like she's slept all of five minutes, but she heaves herself out of bed and starts getting ready. After putting on a sports bra and her white uniform with a blue B on the front, Astrid sits on the edge of her bed and carefully tapes each one of her toes tightly. She used to only tape the toes with blisters, before she discovered that when the toes next to the tape are bare, they get nasty pustules from rubbing up against the fabric.

She then applies her make-up carefully, because if she does manage to break the record, then her picture will probably show up in the Sunday paper, and she wants to look her best for that. If she manages to pull off this race today, she'll have broken the record on the famously difficult Berk Bolt four years in a row.

Yeah, the record that she's fretting about beating is her own.

It's about 7:00 when she pads softly up the stairs, running shoes in hand. There's a scary moment when she hears her dad turn restlessly in his bed, but his snores pick right back up and Astrid slips out into the garage and leaves in her ancient Honda Acura.

The ride is silent and tense, and even though she thinks about turning on the radio she doesn't risk it. This drive is about focus, she needs to get in the zone. This is the first race of her senior cross country season and she almost has that full athletic scholarship to UC San Diego in the bag. She's the front runner for the state championship for the second year running, and it is absolutely necessary that this season starts with a splash.

She envisions the course that she's practiced on thousands of times. It starts on a hill, loops around in a field full of ankle turning pits, and then down the road. That's where it's important, that's where the people are watching, her lead has to look impressive, and she has to look good. She has to look strong and determined and stubborn to win.

Then there are more seemingly endless loops through grass that makes her sneeze, before the epic 200 meter hill then it's time to sprint.

It's not a big deal in and of itself, it's just that she has to break 21:05 on the course. Last year she'd nearly passed out after setting that record and the dweeby editor of the school paper had gotten a picture of her right after she'd barfed her guts out on her cheering coach's shoes.

That boy is now at a different school. In Michigan. She denies starting the rumor that he contracted goat herpes from one summer when he got really lonely on his uncle's farm.

The school is milling with lazy activity, as cross country teams congregate by brightly colored tents all along the school's lawn. Various clubs have stations that are selling various fried foods and offering students a long awaited chance to drop their teachers into a dunk tanks. After parking her car in the senior lot, Astrid get out and crosses the lawn to where her coach, affectionately known as Gobber, is talking to that scrawny kid who manages the team.

"…we'll wancha at the mile, and after the fourth girl passes, te the two mile for Astrid then te the finish…" Gobber is instructing the boy, who seems preoccupied fiddling with his stopwatch. "Are you listening, Hiccup? Fuck, yer father warned me not te call ye that. Sorry Henry."

"It's fine you can just call me Hiccup, the name will scare away all of my adoring fans." He turns to gesture to what he assumes is empty space behind him, but ends up nearly pointing to Astrid. His eyes widen and he flushes vibrantly red. "Erm, um…hi. Hi, Astrid." She looks at him like he's an alien insect and turns to her coach for advice.

"Ye've got that, right?" The man asks one last time in his thick Scottish accent, obviously not trusting that the boneheaded manager understands. "Astrid!" He then greets the star athlete. "I brought the extra undies today, and I intend to need them when ye smash that record." She would normally smile at his incessant obsession with extra underwear, but she's stressed out and more tired than she should be, and nothing about anything seems funny right now.

"Any particular strategy or anything?" Gobber claps her heartily on the back and laughs in a confident way that is not at all comforting.

"Ye've run this course more times that I can count and ye'll be fine. Just keep ye're first mile under 6 minutes thirty seconds and blast up the last hill." He governs, pointing to the monstrous incline with the stump that used to be his right arm. His left leg also ended in a complicated metal contraption that seemed to be mostly made of springs, and he could hop around in anger at a lazy workout almost as well as someone one hundred percent bipedal.

"How specific." She growls, annoyed that he's not giving her some complicated and specific directions to follow. If she has a detailed game plan to follow it's easier to work through the pain and prevail. But making rash, spur-of-the-moment decisions based on gut feelings? No.

"Ye'll be fine. Go get the other girls for warm-up." Astrid stomps into the main tent area where the girls that she never really talks to are all sitting in a circle braiding each other's hair and probably talking about how hot her boyfriend is, because they all shut up when she arrives.

"Come on, we've got warm-up." The girls all take their own sweet time pulling on their shoes and shuffling after her to the first mile of the course. Do they even care about their performance? Is this just a game to them? Next year when she's gone this team will become theirs!

After a refreshing mile jog where none of the rest of the team even tries to keep up, she's back at the tent stretching and trying to get some suitably angry song stuck in her head to keep her on pace for the twenty or so minutes of pain that she has to suffer through to get that record. But all that she can do is glare at some girl with an absurdly bouncy bright red ponytail who keeps prattling on about Scott's abs and their "creases specially folded to contain his god-like magic sweat." That is _her_ boyfriend. Does that freshman want a fist to the face?

She can't actually believe her ears when she hears a collective gasp issuing from the gaggle of girls, and she turns to look behind her, where miraculously Scott and Tuff are ambling towards her. Scott looks like death, his face pale and pasty with somber shadows ringing his eyes while he squints painfully into the sun. He's obviously feeling like dreck and she's strangely touched that he heaved himself out of bed for this.

Tuffnut is limping and looking confused, and Astrid doubts that he remembers his tragic banister slide.

"Did I miss you running?" Scott asks, and Astrid sighs and shakes her head, pulling a pair of sunglasses from her running bag and handing them to the squinting quarterback.

"No, and put these on hangover boy." He looks at the sunglasses, inspecting them for any sort of pink flowers that would make them embarrassing, and seeing that they really are just androgynous aviators he slips them on, immediately relaxing as a large portion of his headache goes away.

"I told you I'd be here." He brags, as Astrid stands and puts a hand on his shoulder for balance while she holds her foot behind her at her butt's height, stretching her quadricep.

"I'm shocked that you even remember that." She doesn't want to divulge too much when there are so many little girls eavesdropping on the conversation. If she says anything salacious, they'll probably run home and brag to mommy that they know a girl who gets drunk, and then when she gets her scholarship she'll end up having to explain everything to the college scholarship committee after some busybody mother decides it's her place to tell the coaches.

Well, if they told Gobber, that probably wouldn't go too far, everyone had seen him nursing his flask after a bad practice, but the mothers would probably just move on to the tight-ass principal.

"If you win maybe we can celebrate." Scott bends down to whisper into Astrid's ear. She should be a more than a little disappointed that the only reason he's here is to take her home to his basement when he's not to drunk to stand, but she's apathetic. It's part of being his girlfriend. If he doesn't get it from her, he'll get it somewhere else, and then there'll be rumors floating around the school that she will have to dispatch. It's really just too much work to be prudish.

"If I win? Don't you mean after I win?" To anyone on the outside, this looks like flirtation between a couple, but actually the seemingly light threat in Astrid's voice is very real. Scott would never admit it, but she has an iron fist that she's not afraid to pound against him.

"After you win then." He concedes, happy that she's agreeing to come back to his place.

"Go be hung over somewhere else now, you're distracting the team." She tells him simply, and it's not meant to be a compliment but he smiles cheekily and waves to the group of girls ogling him. They all blush crimson and look away and Scott shakes his head at their shyness. It's not like he's some sort of hero or something? Oh, wait, he is a hero. A football hero, which everyone knows is the most important kind. Behind superman that is, but who cares about saving the world when you can get the girl by throwing a pigskin?

"Ok then." He tries to stoop down and give her a kiss but she stops him with a hand.

"I'm concentrating." Again this isn't a compliment, but when someone's ego is the size of a hot air balloon it doesn't take much to inflate it further.

"And I'm distracting, I get it." He ends up sauntering away after giving her a brusque clap to the shoulder. Astrid watches him retreat with a still limping Tuff and shakes her head. That boy is an idiot, but there's something about his ass in those jeans that makes it okay.

She shakes off the urge to go and claim him graphically, because the freshman are back to drooling over his physique, and finishes stretching. She pulls on her racing flats that used to be red, but now are some grayish pink color from all of the dust and the streams that she's charged through, and finishes her warm-up, prancing back and forth across the lawn with various absurd gates that warm up her calves and hamstrings and further stretch her ankles.

This is her race, she can do this. This 5K will show just exactly who she is this season. The new and improved Astrid Hofferson, tougher and faster and more admired than ever before.

It's too soon when she's on the starting line, receiving a glare from the girl next to her and snarling back. Scott is shouting something boneheaded about getting a goal or something and whooping at her and her heart is thrumming so loudly in her ears that she's afraid she'll miss the gunshot completely.

But when the blank fires from that unassuming pistol the world stops for a second and she charges forward, sprinting a little too fast to snag the lead before the first hill.

After that the race is hell, like they always are. Her lungs are burning and her legs are aching and her bad knee pops and grinds with every single step, but she's pulling away and she's winning and she's the best. She is in first place, just how it always should be. Her smoking hot boyfriend is cheering her on from the sidelines and her two mile time sets her up to finish in under twenty one minutes, if that last hill doesn't do her in.

This is her favorite type of race, where the competition is weak and she only has to worry about herself. She knows that she can break that record and that's what matters, and it's amazing to know that her goal is attainable and that in a few minutes she'll have a deserved place in the history books.

But celebrating too early is dangerous and she shakes off the feeling by picking up the pace. It hurts so badly that she can't think. Her lungs feel like they're filled with wet sand, grating and suffocating, and she can't even feel her knee anymore, just an epicenter of burning soreness that somehow still bends and pushes her forward.

When she curves into the softball field, and that finish line is so close, and she's going to be able to stop, she sprints, and it's like she was never exhausted at all because the clock says 20:07 and that means that she did it. It's completely logical that she's staring at the clock, rather than paying attention to the manager that's trying to get the most accurate read on her finishing time as is possible.

Hiccup is standing nearly in the middle of the finish line, at Gobber's instruction, because getting that time down to the tenth of the second is the most important job as the manager. Whatever he writes down will be the new course record, and if he has to be manager for this sport that he doesn't understand then he will be the best manager that the team has ever had.

Astrid's eyes are locked on the clock when she charges through that red tape, and the numbers read 20:14.4, which is exactly the number that Hiccup records before he's mowed down by the girl who has yet to lose any of her momentum. She ends up laying mostly on his chest, his clipboard poking her between her ribs and cruelly impeding her attempt to catch her breath. The relief that she's done hits at the same second as the urge to puke and she throws up the contents of her stomach. This happens a couple of seconds before she realizes that she landed on top of someone, and as soon as this hits her she scrambles upwards, planting one foot squarely in the middle of his stomach when she stumbles forward unsteadily.

"Astrid, I'm sorry! I'm sorry—" The kid blubbers as he starts pushing himself back to his feet, but before he's completely steady, Astrid reaches forward and pushes him back down onto the ground.

"What are you doing? Stay out of my way!" She makes to stride off, looking for proper congratulations from Gobber, but stops to look back over her shoulder at the boy who's scrambling to the sidelines as the second place runner _finally_ crosses the finish line. "Why don't you figure out which team you're on before you even think about crossing me again." There's another threat that's mysteriously terrifying and not at all empty.

Astrid walks, well more like hobbles because her knee is killing her, over to where Gobber is jumping up and down whooping and waving his arms frantically.

"Thar she is!" He claps her on the back and shouts her time back at her enthusiastically two or three or ten times before leaving and migrating to tell the parents and anyone else who will listen. That's when Scott steps to the front of the crowd and hugs her, and the relationship feels legitimate for the entire two seconds until his hand migrates down to rest heavily on her ass. She sighs and reaches back, tugging it up to her lower back. At least he doesn't care that she's sweaty and just barfed all over her manager.

"Do you want to get going?" he asks into her ear and she nods, because she's done what she needs to do and now is fine with leaving the rest of the team to fend for themselves.

"Yeah," she doesn't bother alerting anyone as the pair of them walk to their respective cars and get in, driving back to their neighborhood on the other end of town.

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When she gets home, her father Alan is awake, plodding unsteadily across the kitchen, coffee in hand. He turns to her and smiles in that bleary way that means there's a little something extra in his mug.

"Had a race this morning, sweetheart?" She nods, slapping a smile on her face that she hopes doesn't show how badly she wants to leave again.

"Broke the course record." Her father starts towards the stairs, and she hopes that he doesn't actually come down into the entryway because she doesn't have time for a congratulatory _hug_ right now. Thankfully, he stops and leans against the banister, setting his coffee down and making no move to approach her.

"You're just like your mother, always perfect," he compliments, and it strikes Astrid as odd how that exact sentence can mean so many things. He screams it when he's mad, smiles through it when he's proud and on occasion he has moaned it—

She has to get to Scott's.

"Thanks, Dad." She expertly looks at her toes, still clad in the binding racing flats, emanating an aura of shyness and submission. When she doesn't have the time to fight that's really the best way to deal with him. "I'm going out with my team to celebrate if that's alright?" Of course she doesn't add the part that if it's not alright then she's going to slip out of her window and go anyway. And she doesn't bother explaining that it's not with her team, it's with her boyfriend, and they aren't going out. They might not even make it all of the way to his basement couch.

"Sounds fun, sweetie, just don't be home too late." 

"I won't." Her _activities_ won't take _all_ that long.

"Bye Dad." She waves and slips through the front door, walking out to the car waiting at the curb. She slips into the passenger seat and is immediately met by her boyfriend's over-eager hands and lips, and it's easy to forget about all the other stuff and follow him into his basement for the mindless routine that's not half-bad.

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All of a half of an hour later, Scott's excitement has faded completely and he can't seem to usher her to door fast enough. But even though she wants to be pissed or something that he wants her gone, she can't bring herself to actually care.

"I'll see you later?" She asks as he's walking her to the door, still tugging his shirt over his head.

"Sure, I'll call you." They both know what that means. That means he'll be doing something mysterious and dubious with Tuff, and if she doesn't have to go and pick him up or something she won't see him until Monday morning.

It shouldn't be okay, but it is, because that's how the relationship has always been and she likes it. There's no real danger of getting attached, no chance to show weakness. It's really a good arrangement who wants the glamour of a relationship and none of the responsibilities. It's the perfect thing for the moment. Sometimes almost too perfect. It's uncomfortable for something so callous to be so easy and mostly enjoyable.

But Astrid isn't really preoccupied with the ups and downs of her relationship at the moment. She's just hungry at this point, hungry and tired, and there's really no room in her mind to worry about anything else at this particular instant. Going home doesn't seem like the best idea, but there's really nowhere else, so she reluctantly walks back to her house and enters quietly, hoping that her father is just asleep. But it turns out not to be a concern because his jeep is gone from the garage and she has the house to herself. Loneliness really shouldn't be such a relief.

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**I know. It's kind of a rough start, but read and review and the next one is coming. I'm thinking that after this post, I'm going to update weekly every Monday (excluding march fourteenth) so you can expect chapter 2 on march 21, 2011. Awesome guys! I eagerly await your constructive criticism!**

**See you later! (And if you read "Plans", I'll see you pretty soon…)**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, the response for the first chapter was so so amazing. 26 reviews guys? You're so great. Love you all, and here's the second installment…**

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Hiccup hates that he has to stay here in this stupid crowd with barf in his hair and on his shirt to write down times as girls cross the finish line. He's asthmatic! He just really doesn't understand the merit of running fast for a very long time, or any sport for that matter. Why be athletic when you can build a machine that can do whatever it is just as well? Haven't these runners ever heard of cars? Or even bicycles?

Somewhere between the fast runners and the slower ones, his best – and essentially only – friend, who everyone calls Fishlegs for some reason that they can't quite remember comes to stand by him. Some people say that the odd nickname came from a fishing incident on a field trip in third grade, but most people just accept that the large blonde boy who has risen to some fame as a top ranked left tackle shall forever be known as Fishlegs. Despite being on the football team, he's never had the popularity that usually comes with it, because he likes math more than beer and dignity more than girls.

He and Hiccup are designing a catapult for the Latin convention next semester, it's assumed that they'll get first place this year. Again.

"Whatcha doing?" Hiccup's friend looms over him, effectively blocking out the sun enough to make writing difficult. "And why do you smell like barf?"

"Astrid Hofferson graced me with her angel puke before threatening to beat me up." He explains, and Fishlegs laughs.

"No, seriously."

"I'm being serious, she fell on top of me, puked on me, and then threatened to beat me up." He scrawls down the time of the next girl to finish and grimaces at her prone form as she promptly passes out, tripping the girl right behind her. This wasn't supposed to be a contact sport, why are there so many people unconscious?

"Wow, that's epic." Hiccup nods, knowing that he should be depressed that the biggest moment of his life involves being puked on by the most popular girl in school. "You really do reek though. It's actually pretty awful."

"Well, I'll be done in like five minutes and I can rinse off okay? Can you hold out until then?" Fishlegs shrugs.

"But then you have to come with me to dunk Mr. Browning. He gave me a B last semester and it's time for revenge." Hiccup squints at the clock, trying to distinguish whether the last girl had crossed the line at the 40th second or the 41st.

"And people believe you're a football player."

"Meet me at the dunk tank ASAP." Fishlegs leaves with a hesitant pat to Hiccup's back, where he tries his best to avoid the dark stain of Astrid's puke on the green fabric.

Sure enough the last girl jogs across the line, looking unexhausted and lazy, a few minutes later and Hiccup resists the urge to yell at her for taking so long. Sun-dried puke is not the most pleasant thing to scrub out of clothes. He trudges away from the starting line over to the team's tent, where Gobber is standing talking to some coach from another school and waving his stump around animatedly.

"Thar he is! He's got the official time right thar! 20:14.4!" Gobber snatches the clipboard from Hiccup's hand and waves him away with to continue the conversation. "I don't think there's any competition for the state title this year…"

Hiccup walks right over to the school store, and while he despises spirit wear, anything is better than having to put a puked upon tee-shirt back on after washing up. He buys the cheapest shirt they have, a white one with blue letters that say Berk Vikings on the back, before walking into the school and straight to the boys bathroom, where he takes off his soiled shirt and throws it away. It's just a green tee-shirt, and he has a dozen more like it. He almost wants to keep it, because Astrid Hofferson _touched_ him when he was wearing that shirt, but that would be just a little too pathetic.

After sponging his bony shoulder off and hair clean with a wad of wet paper towels, he makes a few mock flexing poses in the mirror, because maybe something has showed up since he tried that last night.

Nope, same skinny little him, more ribs than muscles. He sighs and pulls on the new shirt, and feels a little better, just because being clean is always better than being covered in barf. Even if it's a really _really_ hot girl's barf.

He leaves the bathroom, ready to accompany his burly friend on the teacher-dunking quest of the century. Mr. Browning did have the nerve to make him rewrite that essay, so maybe he does deserve to be dropped into a pool of tepid water.

"Those were some sexy poses in there." It's Fishlegs, of course, because everyone else would have just laughed at him, rather than saying something and laughing at him.

"I didn't think that you saw that." Hiccup scratches the back of his head awkwardly. Fishlegs shrugs, because he really doesn't care if his best friend is posing to himself in the mirror, he's mostly just excited about dunking that jerk of a teacher. It was an 89.6%! He earned that A!

"What you didn't keep the Astrid puke shirt?" He asks when he notices that the disgusting scrap of clothing is nowhere in sight.

"No! Why would I keep it? It's gross!" Fishlegs laughs.

"Maybe since you've had a crush on her since freshman year." Hiccup scoffs at the suggestion.

"It's no so much a crush as an admiration for her drive and zeal for life," he insists.

"Right, and it has nothing to do with the fact that she's hot."

"Can we not talk about this?" Fishlegs laughs.

"Fine then, let's just go dunk that teacher!"

"Then will you stop talking about that B?" Hiccup's never gotten a B, so he can't really sympathize with his friend's melancholy over the grade.

"Maybe." And the two outcast boys walk outside to the nearby dunk tank.

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For most, high school is drudgery, and for a lucky few, those four years are the glory days. For Henry "Hiccup" Haddock, high school is a treasure hunt. A very treacherous treasure hunt, where the risks are wedgies and swirlies, but the prize is better than gold. He has three science classes this year.

Senior year is supposed to be fun, right? So last year he'd taken all of those fluffy social studies so that he could leave his schedule open for the stuff he actually wants to take. Advanced placement Chemistry, Biology, Physics, English, and Latin. Then a college math class on the side and a fluff class of Norse Mythology. He's not valedictorian for nothing.

Thinking about class rank gets him thinking about the person second in the class. None other than Astrid Hofferson. See? She's so much more than just a pretty face and a great athlete. She's smart! Though why should he care? It's not like she's even going to recognize him as the boy that she'd puked on the day before, and she doesn't ever seem to remember his name even though she's had seven classes with him since ninth grade. He has one of the most horrendously awful nicknames in the entire school all because of an unfortunate incident in middle school, and she can't even remember that. It's hard to tell sometimes if she's just that cool, or if she ignores him on purpose.

He sighs as he walks from his Biology class, straight across the hall to physics, where she sits three desks behind him. It's not like he even shows up on her radar, she probably hasn't even thought about him enough to consolidate the valedictorian, the boy she puked on, and that one guy who loaned her that green pencil in the tenth grade. She never even gave the pencil back.

The goal for this year is to finally get over her. Hiccup wants to move on, maybe take a fancy to someone solidly in his own league instead of leaping for the stars and falling flat on his face. He wants to have the whole normal prom experience, where he saves for weeks to afford the tickets and rent the tux, and his date is wearing a dress that she trips on and far too much make up. They'll dance badly and then if he's lucky he'll get a kiss on her porch when he drops her off at home.

If he's really lucky maybe he'll get to second base before college.

That's the other big obstacle of the moment, and the whole freaking reason that he has to be the manager to the stupid cross country team. It's for "athletic involvement" on his Harvard pre-law program application. His father has had his heart set on Harvard since Hiccup first proved that he's not a moron.

But as the science classes show, the boy has absolutely no interest in being some high-paid lawyer or politician. He wants to go to an engineering school, and it just so happens that one of the best engineering schools in the country is just a hop skip and a jump away in Golden, Colorado. Why would he go all of the way across the country to some snotty New England town when he can get what he wants just 15 minutes away from home?

Except that might even be a problem, it's not like his dad particularly wants him hanging around. Congressman Haddock has never understood his son, never gotten why the boy didn't come hunting with him on the weekend or why he never actually complained about homework. In short there's a bit of a rift between the father and son. It doesn't end up mattering much, because Gerard "Stoic" Haddock, a name he was given because of his rare and mild smiles, has ended up spending a lot of time in DC ever since Hiccup's mother died in a car accident a few years ago.

Hiccup remains lost in his own rather pathetic life story until his physics teacher starts talking, and then everything is simple. It's just numbers and equations and everything makes sense, it doesn't matter that he can't run up the stairs without losing his breath and it doesn't matter anymore that he stutters when he talks to any girl. It's just that he's smart and he can do this.

00000

It's really unnerving that Astrid somehow landed in three of Hiccup's classes this semester, and as much as he really doesn't mind staring at her profile when she's not looking, it's really just bad luck over all.

Not only does it put a huge obstacle in the way of his whole get-a-reasonable-date-to-prom plan, but it's distracting. Especially because she somehow ended up directly in his line of sight to the front of the room in English class. As anyone who enjoys understanding the chemical, physical, and biological realities of the natural world will attest, engineers just don't get symbolism. Has it ever crossed the teacher's mind that the flower is, in fact, just the pollinating device of an angiosperm? Nothing less and nothing more. It doesn't mean childhood, it doesn't mean anguish, because it's just carefully specialized hunk of cellulose.

All in all, English class this year is the only potential threat to his position at the top of the class. He wouldn't even be in the damn class if it weren't for that stupid Harvard application. They want English all four years of high school to be considered for application. Who do they think they are? Some super special Ivy League school? Oh, right…

Anyway, it's the last class of the day, and Hiccup can be blissfully done as soon as that bell rings. But instead of being allowed to go home and do homework, or go to home depot to buy materials for his and Fishlegs's catapult, he has to go to cross country practice, where he gets to walk around with a little plastic clipboard like some suicidal male secretary and take attendance.

Well, actually that's not always true. Sometimes Gobber takes attendance while he gets to sort uniforms or move around equipment that weighs twice as much as he does around the gym. Why do they need special equipment for running anyway? Don't you just kind of put one foot in the front of the other really fast and repeat until finished?

Actually, since he never sees the runners using the complicated looking contraptions that he slides around the gym from time to time, Hiccup pretty much assumes that they're just mechanisms to get him out of the way so that Gobber can give instructions to the team without him tripping on something and drawing all of the attention to his dorky antics.

The bell finally rings at 2:30, releasing him from his confusion. He just can't get it into his mind that beer and drugs and prostitutes mean innocence. What was the author getting at anyway? Maybe the actual definition of a great American novel explicitly states that the book has to be so convoluted that only English teachers have the patience to pretend to understand it.

If he were on his own schedule, this is when he would leave the school, but no, he has to go and manage. He trudges through the hall, no one really talks to him, and goes outside to where the runners stretch and pulls out his physics book, leaning against the wall of the school. At least he can do some homework until Gobber gets here and assigns whatever today's task is. Hiccup really _really_ hopes that he doesn't have to move the gym equipment again, last time he threw out his shoulder.

It's unbelievable that he's only done this stupid job for three weeks. Hell, it's only the second week of school, and they haven't even really started the season but it feels like his entire life has been dissolved to doing homework and staring at people run. Well, he watches most of the team run, and he only _stares_ at Astrid sometimes. Most of the time he's just admiring her technique anyway. Like, what if someday his asthma…mysteriously disappears and he wants to start running, it's a hypothetical situation of course, he'll need to know something about technique!

He's got to stop doing that! He's got to get over her, before he becomes that pathetic college guy who's still sitting around pining for the high school girl who never noticed him. But that's not true, Astrid notices him! She even took the time to shove him over and threaten him. Maybe he should just go and get in her way so that she has to go through on the threat, because Astrid Hofferson doesn't threaten when she doesn't intend to go through with it. He might lose something important to his masculinity, but maybe she'd rip it off with her bare hands…

Oh, wow, that's a whole new level of pathetic. He'd rather be dismembered by someone's bare hands than keep all of his parts and never touch her again. As dismal as it is, he can still almost feel where her steely palms came into contact with his chest when she pushed him.

After finally managing to shake the memory of Astrid shoving him out of his head, he looks down to his set of physics problems. It's amazing how everything seems so simple and black and white when it comes to math. The answer is four, not five. No, that one is solved with equation A, not B. And Astrid Hofferson doesn't know that Henry Haddock exists. She doesn't even know that the little nerd named Hiccup exists, let alone that he has a real, sensible name. That truth seems evident as well when he's in the simplistic and clear-cut world of math.

"Hiccup! We'll be needin' ye teday!" He whips his head around at the sound, and ends up stabbing himself in the hand with his pencil.

"OW! Jesus—Please don't tell me I'm moving mats again." He sucks away the blood that's bubbling from the hole in his palm and slides his homework off of his lap.

"Ah no! The mats are fine for now, we've got a workout fer teday, and I'll need ye te be keeping girls times." Hiccup chokes on nothing and coughs loudly. Not only did he have to pretend to not care about her existence for three classes a day, but now he has to tell her times after school! What if he stutters? What if he lisps and spits in that embarrassing way that happens with projectile speaking?

Why does he care?

"C-could I maybe do the boys' times?" It's worth a shot, but Gobber's stony look crushes all of his hopes.

"Ye'll do what ye're needed fer. I'm doin' yer father a big favor, I don' even really need a manager fer this team." Hiccup sighs. If he were just a big athletic wonder like his dad had been then he wouldn't have this stupid charity job now.

"Okay," he sighs, taking the three stopwatches that he's given. What he wouldn't give to be timing the duration of a projectile's flight rather than how long it takes some girls to run around a track. Then Gobber thrusts that infernal clipboard into his hands and walks off to talk with a few of the boy varsity runners that just came back from their warm-up. Hiccup marks them down as attending with another mournful sigh before he walks back and packs the physics homework into his book bag. He doesn't get to do homework like a good little nerd, he gets to pretend that he's not pretending not to watch Astrid Hofferson while she runs around a track and expects him to talk to her without peeing himself.

Now he sounds like a shih Tzu or some other equally excitable pygmy dog.

Hiccup wanders around the circle, marking down who's here and who's not and resigns himself to the next couple of hours of hell. As bad as it sounds, the worst part of this job is the invisibility. Standing in the middle of a circle of girls who are all staring at the football players behind him and the runners in front of him and the only attention he gets is stepped on every two seconds.

The best part of the job is when Astrid walks up and snaps at him that the blue stopwatch is hers, and he better not mix them up. She yells at him reliably before every single work-out. He always wants to work up the nerve to say something sarcastic, but he's never had the nerve. He doubts that anything will be different today.

Sure enough, after Gobber has explained the workout, Astrid walks directly to him, which would be a dream come true if she didn't have that scowl on her face. And despite all of his assumptions otherwise, today is different. Astrid goes so far as to jab him in his chest with a surprisingly forceful pointer finger. It really shouldn't be quite that fierce, because they are standing eye to eye and she can't weight more than a hundred and ten pounds, since she has that whole cross country runner build thing going on, but something about her stony expression makes him flinch backwards.

"You should know that the blue one is mine by now, and remember what I said about getting in my way." She growls, and she's close enough that if he had any real balls he could just lean forward and _kiss_ her. Yeah right, not if he wants to keep his face in its current formation. But something about her proximity, and the fact that he's tired and would rather be doing physics homework gives him a rare burst of shy confidence.

"Or what? You'll puke on me again?" He mumbles in a shy imitation of his usual sarcastic drawl.

"What was that?" Her hands are on her hips now, and Hiccup can't believe that he's _talking_ to her. Well, it's actually more like arguing, but at least he's got her attention. If being his normal sarcastic and idiotic self gets her to notice him, then it might be necessary to invest in a megaphone.

"Ummm, I asked if you were going to puke on me again." He says, just a pinch louder, and Astrid's eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline.

"Just do your job." She chides, before walking over to the track and giving him an odd glance from the starting line. If he didn't know better, he'd say that she looked almost confused. Confused and furious. Crap.

00000

**So here we see Hiccup, and the real question is, will his sarcastic side get him in trouble?...**

**Hmmm, we'll see next Monday.**

**So thanks so much to ZemyxDexion, The Incredible Puba, 4ever2010, Voldyne, easilyamussed, x-EMP-t, E., unimaginablyevilguycalledbob, Annabeth The Unicorn, Violent Masen-Clearwater, Shayna7767, SpecialPaper, Romance and Musicals, Negra, ClassicCartoon27, OmarBarria, Gentrie, A Lovely Treason, fanofBatman, Hicc, Wisdombook34, Onhiro, Axe of Eon, and blackwind-hurricane. You guys are awesome! Expect some PM love!**

**Anonymous Reviewers:**

**Cocktail Hat: Yay! You're reading my new story! And you're wearing a hat! And I'm so happy that you like Snotlout as Scotty and Hiccup as Henry. And there will be some drama…a lot of drama, and a little dip into the darker side of things. And I do run cross country! I'm not good or anything, but I run, so yeah. That's why I chose cross country, I know something about it. And I don't care if you stalk me! Have fun stalking me!**

**Double Rainbow: It's so amazing that you read my stories, not just one of them. That's so cool to hear, and I'm so happy that you like the start I have going here! And chapter 2 is definitely the "Hiccup" side of things. It'll probably essentially alternate until they're less separate, then it'll be like combined. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the late update guys. Just FYI, you guys are completely ridiculous. 60+ reviews for a second chapter?**

**You guys are awesome, keep it up. Sadly, I won't actually be responding to your reviews right away, because I'm on vacation, and I'm barely getting the Wi-Fi working long enough to post. **

**Love you all, but I'm enjoying my spring break!**

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Astrid doesn't understand why she still has to try so hard. It's awful that she can't let herself do anything less. Her class ranking is set, so why is she in four AP classes? The only person who's enjoying his senior year less than her is probably that one kid who has managed to stay ahead of her all of these years. Which he only managed because she doesn't really take to math all that well.

Senior year is supposed to be about partying and putting the finishing touches on her athletic résumé. And she guesses that it's also about living it up with Scott. It's not like they're still going to be together when they go off to college, he's got a football scholarship to KU and she's going to California, and she's definitely not stupid enough to move away from home with a high school relationship dragging her down.

But for now? She should just be enjoying her status. It's taken four years to reach the top, and now that she's here, she has no time to do anything but homework what with running and college applications.

Maybe it'll be easier in the off season, when her scholarship is set in stone and Scott will only be busy with basketball. But even then he always manages to find things to do with Tuff that are more important than hanging out with his girlfriend. Sometimes she wonders if things would be better if she just took a page out of Ruff's book and dated below her.

Well, to put it like that, it makes her sound like some sort of convoluted supremacist, and that's not really what's going on at all. It's not that the boys Ruff brings around aren't perfectly nice guys, they just pale a little in comparison to Scott's looks.

In junior year, after a tough breakup with a nameless halfback who is rumored to have just regained functionality in his left hand, Ruffnut had made it her mission to "redefine her definition of attractive." At first Astrid had found it hilarious when the tall, blonde softball captain had started going out with Physics nerds and the Chess club president. But now, even though Astrid is completely happy in the lackadaisical relationship that she has with Scott, she's almost starting to feel jealous when she sees Ruff truly alone with her current boy, not surrounded by a shrill gaggle of giggling girls. Maybe that is the secret to happiness, find a type that no one wants and learn to love it.

But Astrid's not really hunting for happiness at the moment, not when status is so much easier to acquire. And Scott is great in his own right, without comparing him to some overly sweet, touchy-feely guy who writes unoriginal, rhyming poetry that always includes the words "petal" and "lovely." Sure, sometimes it'd be nice to get a ride instead of always giving them or to have him pay for a date, but those are little things, not large enough to kiss a pairing as dynamic and perfect as theirs goodbye.

Plus, if she gave up just because Scott is a dude, a clueless and helpless guy with an ego the size of Asia, that would just make her a quitter and a sissy. She doesn't need some guy to dote on her twenty four hours a day, that would be suffocating, and it's the wrong idea altogether. She's not some little princess who needs some man to look after her and take care of her or something. She's been taking care of herself ever since her twelfth birthday, and it's not that big of a deal to just keep on doing it.

Sometimes she wishes that life were just like a classic novel. Not the romance part of it, because it would be kind of annoying to be stalked or courted, but just the transformation part. Fictional characters are truly dynamic, it doesn't matter how dastardly or pathetic they are at the beginning of the story. By the end they are whatever the author wants them to be, whatever they _need_ to be.

Yes, Astrid is a bit of an English buff. If anyone ever approaches her about it she'll deny it with every foul, violent move that she has, but in the quiet of her own mind, she can ponder over symbols and metaphors and diction all that she wants. She can dream in Shakespeare and think in essay format.

English class is the only reason that school is worth attending. She pretends that she despises the seat front and center, but really she just basks in the literature, and the teacher's impassioned analysis of the details that seem so muddled before explanation. If it weren't for the superior feeling of a good workout, she would almost despise the bell that ended her hour of approved absorption.

Everyday after her favorite class, she gets to change into her freeing and functional workout clothes and leave for warm-up. It's always alone, because the other team-members are too jealous to talk to her, but it's never lonely. The slow jog around the lake or a field, she can hear the birds chirp and the ground flexes ever so subtly under every step, and she's strong and _alive_. Sometimes she feels like a robot, just going through the motions. Get up, be nice to father, avoid father, be nice to Scott, pretend to hate English, run some mileage, do homework, and sleep. All of it feels empty, until her feet hit the pavement and her heart thrums against her ribcage in that delightfully frantic tattoo.

It always feels like she's doing _something_. She's not just sitting there and existing anymore when she runs. She's _achieving_ something. She's making a name for herself as someone who matters, someone with ability and prowess and everything else that's desirable in the world.

She comes back from her warm-up and stretches out all of the muscles that are always sore and tired, but strong and capable at the same time. Gobber warns her that it's going to be a doozy of a work-out with a clap to her shoulder, and she smiles, because unlike the rest of the people she's forced to call a team, she jumps at the chance to better herself further.

Workouts are one of the most gratifying parts of the sport. Astrid loves the reliability, the consistency of the results. If she runs fast and makes the time set for her, then she will get faster and she will win. Well, as long as the manager doesn't mess up. If he can't stay out of the way of a giant placard that says 'finish' in all caps, then how is he supposed to remember that the blue watch is for her. She has her stopwatch, it's been her stopwatch since freshman year, and she will keep using it and only it. It's reliable, and doesn't skip the thirty third second like that gummy red one that the last manager dropped in a lake.

"You should know that the blue one is mine by now, and remember what I said about getting in my way." She warns the remarkably scrawny boy with a less than cordial stab to his chest with her index finger. It's unlike her to give him a second warning, but she really doesn't want to injure herself dismembering him after he messes up again.

The boy actually responds for once, mumbling something under his breath, and she whips her head back to him with a scalding glare. He's talking to her? What is he doing? No one ever responds to the threats.

"What was that?" She asks, her hands on her hips, trying to maintain her pose even though her mind is flooding with confusion. She doesn't even know who this kid is and he's stepping out of the bounds of everyone that she ever talks to. He's not apologizing and he doesn't even appear to be admiring. This is a bump in the road, a point of confusion, the introduction of a conflict that feels like it could very well change the rest of the story.

She doesn't want for any random person to get involved and change her story. It's probably just paranoia, and he just apologized especially quietly or something, but there's something disconcerting and not at all familiar about the sarcastic twitch in his brow. Like he's not _respecting_ her.

"Ummm, I asked if you were going to puke on me again." What?

"Just do your job." She snaps as something caves within her. That is not an acceptable response. No one _ever_ responds like that.

She needs to shake it off, get on with the work-out, and do what she came here to do. But the nerve of him. What makes him think that it's okay to say something like that? What makes him think it's normal? Well, just to look at him he's obviously not normal. He's always raising his hand in physics like he actually wants to be there—

Now she's remembering him from class?

Suddenly this montage assaults her mind. That kid in English class, over to the right, looking confused. That kid raising his hand in physics, passing her in the hallway, at his locker five down from hers, saying something to his friend on the football team, at academic awards night getting that scholarship from the School of Mines. He loaned her a green pencil a couple of years ago—

No! There's no way to be reacting like this! He just said something stupid to her and she'll make him regret it. There's no reason to suddenly be _aware_ of him. She just needs to get on with the work out, focus on herself.

She's taking off from the starting line of her first lap when it hits her.

Hiccup. Everybody calls him Hiccup—

No. She's not thinking about his name. She doesn't need to know his name. Why is she remembering his name? What is his problem? Doesn't he know anything about anything? Who does he think that she is? How is _this_ okay? What possessed him to do this?

Before she realizes it, she's stopping after just one lap and shoving him down onto the grass, that blue stopwatch landing beside him, still ticking softly. He starts to get up, and she stares at him like he's grown a second head, grabbing his wrist and twisting it behind his back before there's a hammy hand on her shoulder and Gobber is jerking her back.

"Why would you do that?" Hiccup—No! Why is she calling him by his name? He doesn't need a name—is cradling his wrist and _yelling_ at her. Yelling. At her.

What is his problem?

"That was for _everything_!" She shouts back, trying to jerk Gobber's hand from her shoulder. How could he not know what he's _doing_?

"Astrid. Go home." Gobber commands in a stony, disappointed voice that is reserved for everyone else. Never her. She's not everyone else. Why is it okay for that kid to talk to her like that? She glances around and sees the entire football team watching the exchange.

Great, now she's even recognizing that one kid who is _Hiccup's _friend. Her eyes lock with his. He's big and blonde, built like a house and wearing a decidedly dumbfounded expression.

What is _she_ doing? Why is some kid suddenly worth all of this anger?

He's not worth it.

Her entire body deflates and she feels _embarrassed_. That's shameful in itself. _She_ just _embarrassed_ herself in front of the more than a hundred people.

"Go home." Gobber repeats with a slightly softer voice as she relaxes under his palm.

"No, I'm fine." She insists, back to normal. She is fine. Everything is okay. Nothing is different. She's at practice, and she's working out and she's perfect. Just fucking perfect.

"Go home." He repeats and Astrid turns her head to lock eyes with Hiccup, who looks baffled beyond belief.

"Fine." Gobber's hand disappears and she almost wants to say something to the person who just mysteriously drew out what feels like years of pent up anger. But even that doesn't make sense, she doesn't have pent up anger. Her life is great, why would she be bottling any ire?

She turns and leaves without another word. Disappearing into the locker room, aware of the dozens of eyes locked on her back.

00000

About halfway home, she starts in on herself again. Astrid Hofferson is strong and deadly and smart. She has always been _smart_. Until now apparently, now shejust beats up people that she doesn't know for no reason.

She just doesn't understand. Why had she done that? What had made him so important? Yeah, he brought up that time she puked on him. Yeah, he'd been sarcastic and annoying and petulant, but she deals with that everyday. Why couldn't she just give him the silence that he'd deserved?

Christ, she's never been so furious with anyone besides her mother in her entire life. Sure, she'd spat at kids, gotten into fights, started underhanded and nasty rumors when she got a little miffed at someone, but never that kind of all consuming rage. She's never even been that furious with her father, not even when he's—

Why did she even react like that? How did he get under her skin so completely, so effectively? Looking back on it, he didn't _do _anything. Just said something sarcastic.

So why did she suddenly recognize him? Now when she looks back on her day, he was everywhere. Hell, when she remembers her entire high school experience up to this point he seems ridiculously omnipresent. Even now, little events involving the both of them keep springing to mind.

He beat her on that history test freshman year. He drives a gray SUV. He won that science award for his experiment in moon dwelling structures. She never gave him back that pencil.

Someone who she's never noticed before today suddenly seems to be everywhere. And even this bizarre realization doesn't explain the _reaction_.

She just needs to ignore him. From now on, it'll be as though she never noticed him. She'll pretend that this never happened, and so will everyone else if they know what's good for them. Anyone who brings it up will get the same treatment that _Hiccup_ got.

00000

Astrid goes home to an empty house, and starts on her homework. She keeps waiting for the phone to ring, for it to be Scott, for him to ask her what the hell her problem is. Maybe he'll tell her how sexy she is when she goes crazy like that and invite her over and she can forget about everything for a while.

But when the phone rings, it's not Scott, and it's not relief.

It's Ruff Thorston, and Astrid mentally braces herself. Ruff has never been intimidated by the fact that she's Astrid Hofferson and that she's the star athlete and she dates the quarterback, and that's probably why the two are friends. They are both strong females who don't need shoulders to cry on, and neither of them feel no need to sugar-coat anything.

They also don't do the whole girly, talk on the phone thing unless they actually have something to say.

This conversation will be rough. Gladice Thorston didn't get her nickname for nothing.

"Hello?" She mumbles into the phone, reluctantly pressing it up against her ear.

"What the fuck?"

"Nice to talk to you too—"

"What the fuck are you thinking? Going ape-shit on some random geek!" Ruff growls into the phone and gets Astrid all riled up again.

"Better than making out with some random geek!" Anyone currently dating the president of the Calculus Enthusiast club has no room to talk about interactions with nerds.

"Shut the fuck up. At least my boyfriend doesn't need his fingers to count." Astrid sighs, reminded of the second math book in her backpack at the moment. Scott will lose his scholarship if he fails math this year, so she's helping him out with the homework, if he loses his scholarship than he's just some loser in the last great year of his life. Astrid refuses to have a loser boyfriend.

"Duly noted." She can just picture Ruff's smirk, and it's infuriating. "But I beat up a lot of people, why do you care anyway?"

"Normally you have a reason."

"He just pissed me off." She explains, nonchalant, but of course Ruff doesn't buy it.

"Yeah, I heard that you broke his wrist. You usually aren't quite that ferocious." Somehow this actually hits home. She can't remember actually damaging anyone that severely before. It's odd to think that no matter what, his wrist is never going to be the same, because of her. It doesn't really matter how long he wears a cast for, it'll always be a weak point. Talk about making her mark…

"Damn. Really?"

"Yeah, apparently pretty badly too."

"Why are you telling me this?" Astrid sighs into the phone.

"Well, you know that I'm all for kicking ass and taking names, but you should probably go and apologize or something" Ruff suggests.

"Why the fuck would I apologize?" Astrid Hofferson does _not_ apologize. For anything. Ever.

"Dude, he's in a cast for six weeks. Even I think that's going a little far."

"What? You broke—"

"Do not mention him!"

"—_your ex's_ hand with a cinderblock."

"That's different. That remedial asshole fucking deserved it, and from what I've heard that Hiccup kid did _nothing_ to you."

"People are talking? What are they saying?"

"Jesus, Astrid. You fucking shattered some kid's wrist and all you're worrying about is what some idiotic football players are gossiping about?" Yes, that is what she cares about. Those idiotic football players are the reason behind her status, the people who esteem her as popular and the whole school follows them.

"Stop lecturing me about my fucking morals and tell me what you've heard."

"People are saying that you went crazy and your coach had to pull you off of him." Damn, Astrid had been hoping for some vastly exaggerated story that she'd set straight and this would all go away.

"Well, that's pretty much it."

"What the hell got into you?" Ruffnut doesn't understand. Astrid is a bad-ass and has always been a little too impulsive, but she's never been _crazy_.

"He just pissed me off. It wasn't a big deal."

"If it wasn't a big deal why did you mutilate him?" Astrid shrugs, but upon remembering that Ruff can't actually see her she answers with a noncommittal grunt into the phone.

"Why do you care so much?"

"You know what? Never mind. I'll talk to you tomorrow if you don't go on some psycho killing spree by then." Ruff hangs up and leaves Astrid listening to a fuzzy, dead line. If only she could shut her mind up that easily, then she wouldn't have to sit here thinking about her ridiculous tantrum. Why the hell had she done that anyway?

She doesn't really have time to go back into in depth analysis of her bizarre actions, because the front door opens and shuts and her dad stumbles down the stairs. He's screaming before his feet hit the carpet.

"Amelia! Why'd you leave? I fucking said that I was sorry!"

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**Poor Hiccup. All damaged and junk…**

**I'm going to the aquarium like a dork…an awesome dork…but yeah, you'll get your responses later when I'm not having fun being a dork. **

**Thanks! Love you guys, seriously, you're ridiculous!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm awful and I'm leaving this post to the last minute and I'm sorry I haven't responded to your reviews! You are all so amazing! Almost a hundred reviews on a three chapter story? Y'all are ridiculous! And I really do love you guys, I'm just busy and tired and I'm sorry!**

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"Ye okay?" Gobber asks Hiccup after Astrid has disappeared inside.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He just got beaten up by a girl, and now he's not going to act like some weak little twit. Sure, the girl was Astrid Hofferson, notorious bad-ass, but she's still a _girl_. The last thing Hiccup needs is a reputation as a girls' punching bag.

But then he actually looks at his arm. It's already turning purple and crooked at an extreme angle just an inch or two above the actual wrist.

Maybe it's okay to act weak right now. Bones are not meant to bend like that.

"Actually I'm not fine. I'm not fine at all. This is not fine—OW." He waves the obviously damaged appendage in the air for emphasis and there's an unearthly cracking sound. "Shit!—Sorry! OW!" He gestures in apology for the language to some shocked runners gaping at his hand and yelps again.

"I'll call yer father." Gobber sighs, resigned to the fact that his little favor to his old friend Congressman Haddock keeps turning into a bigger and bigger problem.

"No! OW!" Hiccup can't seem to just keep the hand still, he keeps on waving it around emphatically and probably injuring it worse. "I'll just drive to the hospital."

"Ye aren't driving wit yer arm about to fall off." Gobber starts digging his own car keys out of his pocket, but is saved from the harrowing responsibility by Fishlegs, who drops his helmet and runs over to his injured friend.

"Gobber, Sir, I can take him to the hospital, if that's what he needs—" Fishlegs looks down at Hiccup's currently deformed wrist. "Gah! Yeah, I can take him."

"Ye sure that ye can jes leave practice like that?" Gobber looks over the massive blonde's shoulder to see the football coach stamping a cleated foot and sending some freshman over to get his left tackle back on the field.

"Actually, ditching for the well-being of an injured cohort might improve my status within the team's social hierarchy, Sir." Fishlegs says with a smug grin and a little wave to his furious coach.

"I don' actually know whatcha jes said." Gobber takes one last look at everything that is wrong with Hiccup's arm before dismissing the pair of incurably nerdy boys with a flick of his remaining wrist. "Off with ye, I've got a team te coach!"

The two boys walk around the outside of the clay track and across the soccer field to the student parking lot where Fishlegs opens the passenger door of his too small sedan for Hiccup before cramming himself, football padding and all, into the undersized front seat and bee-lining for the hospital.

Of course, they get stuck in traffic halfway there, while Hiccup is trying not to whimper pathetically about his arm. It hurts in a way that makes him want to throw up, which is something he'd really prefer not to do in someone else's car, and he turns to Fishlegs, trying not to look desperate.

"Can we, erm, talk or something? I'm trying not to puke." He exhales dramatically and purposefully, anything to calm his churning stomach.

"Stomach acid has a pH of 2 in most cases," Fishlegs blurts, eyes glued to the windshield to avoid looking at his friend's nauseating arm.

"Huh?"

"Stomach acid is extremely acidic—"

"Would you stop that?" Hiccup barks with an anger that he rarely shows. It doesn't bring out the best in people to snap their arms and then make them wait in traffic in a tiny car with a huge boy and no air-conditioning.

"Yeah…what—what do you want to talk about?" Fishlegs stutters out, shocked by his usually dry and demure friend's outburst. However, the repulsively obtuse angle of his radius and ulna right above the junction with his carpals allows for a measure of hostility.

"I don't know." Hiccup moans, gagging a little as his arm starts to throb. He fumbles for the window's control with a clammy hand and opens it. The cooler breeze cutting through the eighty degree day helps some, as does the knowledge that a safe place to vomit is just a jerky lean away. "What am I supposed to want to talk about? The fact that my arm feels like it's going to fall off?" Fishlegs is really astounded by the amount of fury in Hiccup's mannerisms, if he weren't so worried for his friend, he'd be taking notes over the +7 anger phenomenon.

"How about Astrid? I assume that the +22 pain she delivered has probably lessened your affection for her by at least 12 points." Hiccup scowls.

"My dad always told me that sarcasm wouldn't get me anywhere…but did I listen? Nope?" The damaged boy bangs his head against his headrest in a demonstration of self loathing. "I just had to go and mouth off to the crazy girl. And no one is even going to get in trouble for it, because I'm just too plain macho to admit I gotten beaten up by a girl," he whines resentfully.

"Hiccup? I don't think you have to admit it, the fractures to your radius and ulna kind of make it obvious—"

"Shut up." The rest of the ride is silent.

00000

Three hours in the waiting room, two x-rays, a prescription for some heavy painkillers, four hot nurses and seven failed flirting attempts later, Hiccup leaves the hospital clad in an impressively clunky bright green cast covering his left arm from hand to elbow. The doctor had taken care to reiterate just how _lucky_ he is to have gotten the bone set without needing surgery, but right now, the injured boy feels anything and everything but lucky.

Not only does he have to suffer through the affliction of liking the girl who is least likely to notice him, now he has to deal with her brutally wounding him. He's in a cast for six weeks just because his weak sarcasm attempt was so positively appalling that Astrid felt the need to crush him like the bug he probably is in her eyes.

What is he going to tell his father?

Gerard Haddock had been Scott Nout in high school. Well, actually he'd been Scott Nout with a brain and dignity, but he'd been the quarterback of his high school community. He had gotten _the girl_ and married her, and the American dream with all of its political undertones had been his until his son had turned into a royal screw-up. Then that perfect girl died in a car accident and all attentions were turned to improving his son's high school experience.

When that hadn't worked, the country became the next matter of importance, and it seemed that Congressman Haddock was had intertwined his destiny so fully with that of the arguably failing nation that nothing else would be getting any of the man's passion anytime soon.

It seemed that the only way to elicit a suitably emotional response was through angering the man with inadequacy, which is the one thing besides math that Hiccup really excels at. Being inadequate. They should accept that as a skill on résumés and college applications. 'Dear admissions officer, I'm really good at being inadequate. But I like math, I just suck at life. Don't worry about it though, I'm not even going to party in college because partying without ladies is no fun and ladies don't talk to me…ever. So yeah. Good talk.'

That would go over well.

Fishlegs drops Hiccup at the school, and the newly crippled boy retrieves his book bag from where he left it near the wall of the school, before driving home to the house that's always empty. Either Mr. Haddock is in Washington DC, and Hiccup is technically alone in the house, or he's there and it's even more silent.

Well, it's actually livelier in the spacious, frigid mansion when Hiccup's father is away.

Hiccup has always been by all definitions a good kid. He doesn't stay out late, he doesn't get girls pregnant, he gets good grades, he doesn't lie…well, usually.

About a year ago, one of the coyote traps surrounding the outskirts of the Haddock property caught something. Hiccup had been alone in the house at the time, and he'd been drawn from his warm bed one night by a dreadful baying echoing from the edge of the nearby forest.

It had taken around four hours and a menagerie of small but deadly kitchen knives to get up the courage to check out the problem, and upon arriving, the teen had nearly suffered a heart attack from the shock of finding a massive black wolf caught with a paw in the trap, laying there pitifully cornered. At first, Hiccup had intended to kill the wolf, maybe take it to a taxidermist and give it to his father as another decoration for his home office, already filled with stoic deer heads.

But something in those huge, brown, vulnerable eyes had made it impossible, and he'd ended up unlatching the trap, which is of course when the freakish wolf almost killed him. A huge, front paw had landed square in the middle of his chest, pushing him to the ground, while the wolf had bared impossibly sharp teeth and growled loud enough that the whole world had collapsed in a millisecond of terror.

Then the dog was gone, and Hiccup stumbled through the woods back to his house before passing out on the couch.

For a few days, he'd convinced himself that it was just some bizarre nightmare, but then the dog had showed up outside his window, looking hungry and lost, and at first the terrified teen had hidden out in his room, hoping desperately for the beast to disappear. But he'd soon become taken with drawing the strange deformed animal, capturing the almost painful angles that his shoulders move at as he stumbles around the mansion, snuffling along the dirt. It wasn't long after he'd started drawing him that Hiccup had realized just how injured the animal actually was. The wolf was stumbling around on three legs, with the leg that had been caught in the trap hanging limp and numb from his shoulder. It looked like somehow the trap had paralyzed the dog from the shoulder down, and there was nothing to be done.

Almost a week after the beast's reappearance, Hiccup went outside with a half frozen steak, offering it solemnly to the weakened animal. The wolf tentatively stepped forward, snatching the meat out of the boy's hand with a growl.

This patter had persisted for another week, and on the seventh day, the animal had lunged forward after finishing the meaty treat, and taken Hiccup's arm in his mouth…without biting him. The dog had kind of mouthed the trembling appendage, licking it happily before pulling back and trotting away as if it hadn't happened.

That's when Hiccup had started calling him Toothless, for the odd non-bleeding bite, and the name had stuck.

After a while, it had gotten intolerable to watch the dog's now useless leg drag around on the ground, and he'd fashioned a sort of strap out of leather that winds around the leg and Toothless's torso, holding the limb tucked up to his chest. It works, but someday when he's living on his own and can have a pet around if he likes, Hiccup plans to get the thing looked at by a vet…if a vet would look at a giant wolf without calling some scary government agency.

Now, the wolf is a part of Hiccup's daily routine, and with it comes a daily supply of lies that his father always seems to believe without thinking twice. The wolf comes inside and sleeps like a tame little Pomeranian on the foot of Hiccup's bed when his dad is away, and when Congressman Haddock is in town, Toothless sleeps on a quilt hidden away in the corner of a basement next to Hiccup's videogames. It's a solid arrangement.

After having the pet for a short amount of time, it became increasingly apparent that Hiccup knows nothing about dogs, so he'd started volunteering at a nearby animal shelter every Saturday morning. A certain animal shelter where his father's best friend worked. His father's best friend happened to also be cross country coach at his school, and that's part of how he landed the job as manager.

The animal shelter is mostly full of pit-bulls and Rottweilers, and it has become somewhat of a trend to dump scary watch dog types on the doorstep. No one ever really seems to get adopted, and the shelter is poor and ill-equipped. But Hiccup has come to love it. He loves the dogs, who are all a little scary looking, but on the inside still retain such a sweet intelligence that he hardly believes people could have left them. But then again, people are shitty.

So now when his father is off on legal business, the large wolf with the peculiar name is waiting on the back doorstep and licks Hiccup excitedly when he opens the door before nosing at the cast on his arm with a concerned whimper and trotting inside, used to moving on his three functioning legs.

"Yeah, careful with that, buddy." Hiccup pulls the damaged appendage out of reach of the big wet nose. Toothless cocks his head and looks up at his boy curiously. "That girl I was telling you about, Astrid?" The wolf nods like he actually understood what was going on those hours and hours that Hiccup prattled on and on about his stupid useless crush. "Yeah, she _really_ didn't like it when I talked to her." Toothless growls, wanting to defend his master. "No, don't be like that. I still want her to like me…" The wolf proves that animals are in fact capable of blank stares. "I don't know why either!" Still staring." "Ok, yeah, she's just really _that_ pretty." Toothless looks satisfied and trots across the room to curl up on his favorite rug by the fire.

Hiccup goes upstairs and changes into some comfortable pajamas before taking one of those very large pain pills and curling up on the couch, a physics book on his lap and a pencil in his hand.

00000

When he wakes up, his wrist is throbbing and his homework is covered in doodles and what looks like drool. He notes to himself that homework doesn't go so well when he's high as a kite on pain killers. After taking putting the ruined papers in the trash, because he didn't want anyone to ever see that image of Toothless drinking a milkshake, he calls the school, pretending to be his father. They can probably see right through the absurdly deep voice and too thick accent, but what are they going to do? He's valedictorian and a model student, and they like having his test scores on their school record.

There might be a small part of him that just doesn't want to go to school and face all of the stares and laughter. In all of his years of being a screw up, he's never before stooped so low as to be a girl's punching bag. He honestly got beaten up by a _girl_.

That's the stuff that bad nineties movies are made of. Well, that and kissing pretty girls in the middle of random thunderstorms, but there's not really much chance of that.

He stays at home, isolated from humanity and high on pills seemingly made for someone much larger and huskier than himself. Fishlegs brings by his homework a couple of times, but everything kind of blurs together in this kind of swirling movie of feeding Toothless and sleeping and watching cartoons. He doesn't snap out of it until Wednesday night when his dad shows up and he has all of two seconds to hide the wolf and put on a long sleeved shirt before he's under interrogation from a giant man with a bag of take-out in hand.

Of course Mr. Haddock just had to get Hiccup a hamburger that weighs as much as the entire right side of his body, and he has to use both hands to hold it up. That leads to an interrogation, and a plethora of disappointed scowls.

"What happened to your arm?" The huge man asks casually, wiping his hands on a white cloth napkin that contrasts almost comically with the massive bacon double cheeseburger on his paper plate.

"Got in a fight." His father looks at him disbelievingly. "You know me, dad, I see some bullies picking on the weak and defenseless and I just have to beat them up. But there were a lot of them this time—"

"Was it that Nout boy?" Great, his father saw right through him.

"No. It wasn't Scott."

"That Thorston boy then?" The ashamed teen shakes his head. "The Thorston_ girl_? Come on Henry, I know that you didn't inherit the family athleticism—"

"It was Astrid Hofferson."

"The runner?" He nods miserably and his father's face darkens.

"How much is the medical bill setting me back?" Hiccup groans at that.

"Dad, we're kind of rich, I don't think that it's large enough to—"

"Do you think that I made that money by spending it all on stupid mistakes? Did you press charges? You think that it's just okay to leave me with your legal mess to clean up—" Mr. Haddock growls, and Hiccup sets down his untouched burger with a solemnly guilty expression.

"No, I don't want to press charges! What am I going to say? This girl really beat me up—you know what? Never mind, I'm going to bed." He leaves the table with a curt nod from his father, and trudges up the stairs. That night, he doesn't take his pill, just to be sure he'll be awake enough to go to school. No way is he spending the next day at home, having father-son bonding time.

000000

The next morning, Hiccup takes enough aspirin to give himself ulcers, just hoping that he can make enough of the throbbing, aching pain disappear to be tolerable. It doesn't really work and he ends up taking a half of one of the pills, and while he feels a little loopy to be driving, he's capable enough.

School looks like a looming beast in front of him, its gaping mouth dragging students in with an overhanging promise of victory by graduation. He doesn't want to go in there. He doesn't want to enter the cesspool of rumors about him. While he's never been popular, he's never exactly had a stigma associated with him…Well, besides nerd.

Now he's going to be nerd who got beaten up by Astrid Hofferson. Nerd with brittle bones shattered at the mere thought of Astrid Hofferson's strength and beauty. He doesn't want to go inside.

Oh god, he doesn't want to go inside.

Eventually, he hears the first bell from his car and gives up waiting for the situation to somehow get less horrific and goes inside. It doesn't take five minutes to get horrific. Hiccup trudges into his first period Norse mythology class, where Astrid just happens to sit three seats behind him. He's almost late, but slips into his seat before the bell.

It's pathetic how the first thing he notices is that Astrid isn't there. The seat in the middle of the popular cronies is empty and he feels terrified and happy all at once. If she were here, at least he'd be able to hear her spread the story about his weakness, as if the whole school doesn't know about it already.

His heart races when she shows up a moment later, pushing through the doorway with a pass in hand and traipsing back to her seat, where she promptly greets her clique with that too beautiful smile. He's never felt more invisible. She snapped his arm like a twig three days ago and now she can't even spare him a disdainful glance. The life of a punching bag is lonely and unrewarding.

The teacher talks for a moment about some semester long project that they've been assigned that counts for 50% of the class's points, and she stops mid sentence, her eyes landing on Hiccup then flitting back to Astrid.

"Henry, Astrid, see me when we start work time, I'll get you the handout." Hiccup's heart is beating out of his chest. His name was just in the same sentence as Astrid's, and it's like a wet-nightmare come true! Maybe she'll break something else—damn hormones.

Standing next to Astrid at the front of the room, Hiccup feels about two inches tall. But at the same time as he's holding the clunky, bright green cast behind him, hoping that she won't decide that he needs a matching set. As pretty as she always looks, he's such an uncharacteristic mix of angry and terrified that he barely even notices he's close enough to reach out and _touch_ her.

"…worth half of your grade, as I said, and the presentation will need to be at least five minutes in length…" They each receive a hand out, and Hiccup's eyes catch on the first line. _Partner_ project. The sheet says _partner_. He glances at the room behind him and surely enough, everyone has sectioned themselves into groups of _two_.

And none of those popular kids are sitting alone.

"Wait, I have to work with _him_?" Astrid asks, hand on her hip, glaring at the teacher and taking the words right out of his mouth. Well, in his mouth, they were filled with misplaced admiration rather than the abundant derogatory disgust in her voice.

Yes, he's starting to realize that the bully standing a few inches away is gorgeous. Completely terrifying, and he's really starting to doubt that measure of worth that he's always admired, but she's fantastically beautiful.

"Everyone else paired off on Tuesday, and neither of you were here." Astrid wasn't at school on Tuesday? Hiccup chastises himself for worrying about that. He shouldn't care about whether Astrid is at school or not! She broke his arm; he really should hate her or something…right?

"Can't you switch out some other group or something?" Astrid is visibly losing her calm, the color in her unusually pale cheeks brightening, and Hiccup flinches back reflexively hiding his cast more wholly behind him.

"No, Ms. Hofferson, I already assigned the other groups, and they will not be punished because you couldn't be bothered to attend my class," the teacher says, head fogged by the small power he's been given. "You will just have to suffer through doing the project with Henry." Great. Duh-da-da, he's dead.

She's going to tear him limb from limb, all the time with that beatific smile on her face. And then his remains are going to be a prop in her presentation on the bodily results of Ragnarok. She'll get an A and the cops won't even arrest her for murder because they'll be afraid of her too.

Oh, right, and she's pretty. Literally beautiful enough to get away with murder.

Freaking great.

Astrid glares at the teacher before stomping back to her seat and plopping down with a huff. The teacher gives hiccup a pitying look before going back to his desk and flicking through some papers while trying to look important and authoritative. Surely, it will be good for Ms. Hofferson to spend some time with Mr. Haddock. She's a smart girl, just full of too much anger to be useful outside of sporting events.

Hiccup turns with a too loud gulp and looks at the pouting she-wolf that he's supposed to approach. He notices that she's a little paler than normal and looks almost too skinny in her blue long sleeved shirt and sweatpants. It's eighty degrees outside again, so the warm clothes are weird. Maybe she's been sick and is still feverish or something.

He sighs, why is he analyzing her fashion choices? He should just go and tell her that he'll do the freaking project and beg for her to leave the rest of his bones intact. Then he can use the rest of the period to do some delightful triple integrals and clear his head of all of the social nonsense. If he had his painkillers, he would pop one right now, just get rid of the stress and emotion the chemical way. Not that he's a wannabe stoner or anything, it's just if he's going to die at the hands of Astrid Hofferson, he might as well be high as a kite.

After one step towards her, he loses his nerve and stumbles over to the corner to get a tissue, even though he doesn't need one. He takes a few minutes by the trashcan, breathing into it and delaying his inevitable demise. When he glances back over his shoulder at her, she's peering at him as angry and irresistible as ever. She waves him over with a hostile and impatient hand and he blushes?

How is he ever going to get a girlfriend if he has to talk to her everyday all semester? It's like he's being taunted with what he'll never be able to achieve.

He tosses the tissue after one more pathetic fake sneezing attack and ambles back across the room, trying and failing not to look panicked. Not only is he walking towards Astrid Hofferson when she looks very angry, but his arm is throbbing like a warning. She broke his arm and now he's walking towards her? Why is he going over there again? His dumb report card surely can't be worth death.

Oh, right. Harvard wouldn't accept the whole 'avoiding death' excuse.

Astrid is like a dangerous lightning storm or something. His rational side knows that if his head constitutes the highest point in a flat plain, then he will be a target for the burning release of electricity that is lightning. But every time she passes, he just has to stick his head up and stare, almost hoping for some of that deadly attention. Apparently a vicious and violent death is better than living among the masses that she doesn't deign to notice.

He clumsily grabs his notebook and pencil in his uninjured hand and sits down in the desk ahead of her.

"Ok, so umm, I guess—" He stammers out after a silent moment.

"I'm not stupid," Astrid snaps at him. Not what he was expecting, maybe some mocking laughter, but not a shockingly earnest explosion of self defense.

"I-I know—" Is it stalkerish to recite her grades since ninth grade? And why is he suddenly stammering?

Oh, right. He's stammering because Astrid 'arm-breaker' Hofferson is snapping at him and _looking_ at him with those huge hateful blue eyes.

"I'm not some dumb jock, and I won't have you fucking up my grade because of some little nerd habit or something and—I just want an A. I'll do what I need to for the A, and I guess you can hitch a ride." God, she's scary. Every word bares her pearly white teeth in a most threatening way and he leans back reflexively, the desk's cold metal bar digging into his ribs as he stretches to get away from her. "So just go play your little videogames or whatever you do, and I'll handle the stupid freaking project."

"I can help—"

"I don't want your help," she growls loudly enough to draw the attention of a few other people in the room. He's silent for a second, staring at the floor and sneaking a few glances t her. She looks deeply uncomfortable and keeps staring at his cast.

Somehow, watching her too blue eyes trace the wrist that she so callously snapped makes him mad. Furious really. Just because she's _perfect_ doesn't really make it okay, and her slightly guilty face both shocks him and affirms his anger. He pulls his arm around from its ineffective hiding place nd sets it on her desk. It throbs again and he'd do anything to pop one of those painkillers and go somewhere where she can't see him.

"Brown stick simple break in the radius and a spiral green-stick fracture of the ulna. I'll be out of the cast in six weeks. Of course, that is assuming that you don't do that charming little twist and snap thing again," he says wryly, still looking at the wall.

Apparently he didn't learn from the first time he was sarcastic to her.

00000

**So some toothless…Some Hiccup being sarcastic when he should know better…fun stuff. Really fun stuff. **

**And I'm sorry about reviews again! I was super busy unpacking and taking care of everything and I don't have time tonight. Sorry, but I will get caught up, I'm awful I know. **


	5. Chapter 5

"I really shattered it, didn't I?" Even Astrid can hear how phony her bravado is. She's feeling anything but the pride that she's faking. Her stomach churns irritably as she thinks about the wet snapping sound she must have missed through her anger.

It's too quiet nd she glances back at him, trying to see if he bought the lie. He's frowning t her and it's unsettling.

Why the hell does she _care_? People frown at her all of the time and now she's almost upset because this little nerd looks disappointed in her lack of moral fiber?

She lacks moral fiber. The realization is at once startling and staggering. Even Ruff had told her to apologize, but the thought had never crossed her mind before the other girl's suggestion. She broke his arm, he's _damaged_, and she won't even say 'sorry'?

Nope, she's not going to back down and apologize, she doesn't care about his arm. Who is he anyway?

Just some little dweeb who she shouldn't have noticed in the first place. Well, a sarcastic dweeb with brittle arm bones and what looks like an inhaler sticking out of his backpack, and he loaned her that pencil that one time—

No. Just a dweeb.

"What do you want to do the project on?" He mumbles, and she shrugs, forcibly casual.

"Thor, he was a big deal or something, right?" She snaps, staring at the ceiling. Sometimes, she really hates pretending to be dumb, especially right now after she just went out of her way, flaunting her brains to make sure he didn't act all nerdy and superior. If she wouldn't lose most of her pull by coming out as not stupid, this would all be so much easier.

"Yeah, big guy, big hammer." Hiccups says in that same little sarcastic voice that got him in trouble in the first place, making Astrid snap around and narrow her eyes at him.

"Don't piss me off." Her eyes flit down to that awful eye-sore of a cast, and she feels her stony expression falter. She _broke _him.

She has no moral fiber and she breaks people. But on the other hand, she has an ideal boyfriend and she's set to break a course record this Friday.

Things balance out.

Right?

00000

Missing school is always dreadful, there's always all of this make-up work that eats up any vestige of a social life for days and days and teachers do their best to make Astrid feel guilty for missing their all important attempts to bore her to death. Not that she feels more alive at home or anything.

The bruises are shockingly distinct this time, and inconvenient as hell. Two blue-black hands, already fading to green and yellow around the edges are etched into her ribs and hips, the discernible fingertip lines tipped with crescent shaped scabs. She doesn't like the way that they stand out against her pale golden skin, and that's why she stays home Tuesday and Wednesday. It was all for vanity reasons. Not because her ribcage threatens to explode anytime she tries to breath and definitely not because she can't wear pants without nearly tearing up every time the waistband presses against her hipbone.

Monday was the longest episode she'd witnessed in a while, and she really wishes that it could have waited until after her season, it's going to mess up the Meathead invitational on Friday. She can't afford to miss two days of training at this time in the season, it's completely insane. She has another course record to break, and Scott has a game, and then there's the after-game party at the Thorston house again, and she just doesn't have time to be sitting at home, bruised and pathetic.

That dumb mythology class only makes everything horrible worse, because she just has to get paired up with _Hiccup_. Hiccup who she _maimed_. It seemed like she couldn't pull her eyes from that cast, the cast with a single signature scrawled in black sharpie. She did that. She made that necessary. She took his arm and twisted it until the bones cracked and splintered—

The thought makes her a little queasy. All of that red, swirling around inside of him, displaced because of her.

When he set it on the desk, she almost _touched_ it. It was actually really hard to keep her hands away from the plaster. She did that to him. That cast is as much hers as it is his, really. She should sign it. Like an autograph—

But isn't that kind of sick? Wanting to own his injury? Probably she should just forget it. Forget him.

But then they have this stupid mythology project…

Why did she have to get paired up with him, of all people? There are like four of her friends in that class, why did none of them say on Tuesday that they would be her partner when she got back? Some friends they are…

Now she has to work with him, every single day in that dumb class she has to look him in the face and look at his cast and recognize the fact that he exists. People in books get to run away from their problems, get to go to a different country, choose a new name. They don't have to stare their violent mistake in the eye every single day of their lives.

Hell, she's probably going to have to see him outside of class if the project is big enough to constitute half their grade in this stupid class. Ugh, what if people think she's dating him? Like if they go to work at the library or the bookstore or something.

Yeah right, people won't think that. No way would _she_ be dating _him_. She doesn't even notice him.

Well, she didn't notice him before she jerked his arm around like a tetherball. Blech, just the thought of his arm snapping and twisting and _breaking_ makes her sick. She's glad that Scott isn't going to be at lunch today, he's going to McDonalds with some friends, so she's stuck with Ruff and her nerd of the moment.

She sits down at the little group of couches reserved for seniors and claimed by jocks, puling out a protein bar to nibble on. No way will she show that imagining that damp splintering sound so many times has completely taken away her appetite.

"Hofferson, where have you been?" Ruff greets her, and the boy at her side looks shocked to be sitting in the lounge with these two particular girls. Astrid pointedly ignores him and shrugs, setting the uneaten, half wrapped bar back down on the table. She just doesn't want to see it a second time right now.

"Sick. I didn't want to push it." Ruff grins wolfishly and for a second looks shockingly identical to her brother.

"Of course you didn't stay home to avoid broken arm boy." Astrid crosses her arms, miffed and dramatic.

"I don't _avoid_ anyone. I talked to him this morning." Ruff looks stunned and a little proud as she leans back into the couch. Her shoulder brushes up against her new man, who looks both elated and terrified at the contact.

"You took _my _advice? The mighty Astrid Hofferson apologized—"

"I didn't _apologize_. You know I don't do that. We have to do some dumb mythology project together." Ruff sniggers in response.

"So you have to do a project with the kid whose arm you broke for absolutely no reason at all?" Astrid nods, mostly ignoring the pointed interrogation. "That's crazy." She laughs for a second before turning to the nerd next to her. "I like crazy," and he releases a strangled little undignified squeal as she snogs him enthusiastically.

Astrid is left pointedly ignoring the couple until the end of lunch. If it were anyone else, she'd break them up with a few carefully placed kicks, but Ruff…Ruff would put up a fight. Astrid is certain that she could win, but not without a few more plum colored splotches. Then again, if she beat someone up, her current bruises would fall under the heading of 'you should see the other guy.'

Lunch is nice and quiet without Scott around telling lewd jokes and making grabs at her. She likes it when he's gone, a guy needs time with his friends. Something that most of these clingy high school girls don't seem to understand. Astrid hates it when girls expect their boyfriends to feed them, or pay for dates, or plan elaborate dates that don't end on a basement couch…

That's why those girls don't date Scott, they're high-maintenance and needy and weak. She's fundamentally better than them and that's why they're sitting around ogling the boyfriend that she's touching.

And doing math homework for…

They go together. Not to mention that she has a responsibility to her school, her reputation, and her high-school future to keep this up. She's the girl who dates the football player, not the one who ruins the good thing she has going with _feelings_.

00000

"Group B, go an' run the lake. An' I don' want te hear about ye goofin' off! Group A, tempo run out te the golf course. Astrid, fron' an' center. Ye've got a workout te make up." Gobber is standing in front of a semicircle of girls, barking orders about the day's practice. Astrid thinks he looks a little ridiculous, waving that stump of his around excitedly. Or maybe she's just being extra tenacious at the moment because she's afraid that he's about to suspend her for the rest of the season.

"It was repeat 1600's wasn't it?" She asks, chipper and hostile at the same time. The boys are already down on the track running, and Hiccup has a stopwatch in each hand.

Damn, now she's even recognizing the back of his head.

"Cut the crap. Give me one good reason that I shouldn't kick you off of the team? Ye broke me manager's arm. Fer no reason I could see. Just went over an' snapped him like a fishbone! Tell me why that's not enough te get ye expelled?" Astrid hates getting yelled at. She hates it more when the person yelling has a point.

"I'll run ten hills." She offers, knowing that she can't answer what he wants answered. She doesn't have any reason that she shouldn't be in deep shit over this little screw up.

"How is you running hills goin' te fix the mess ye've put me in? What am I supposed te tell the boy's father? That my runners get te break 'is son's arm jus' 'cause he looks at 'em funny?"

"Twenty hills." Silence. "Forty hills. That's my final offer—"

"Have ye even apologized te the lad?" Gobber barks in that angry coach tone usually reserved for everyone else.

"We're doing a project together. I've talked to him—"

"Go an' apologize, an' I'll consider lettin' ye run tomorrow."

"But—"

"Go." Gobber is a force to be reckoned with when he's stern like that and Astrid scowls impressively at him before turning and stomping as much as she can in the soft grass down to the track, where Hiccup is standing with the stopwatches. One is awkwardly resting on his plaster-clad hand and he can barely get his thumb around to the button. Astrid snatches it out of his hand and calls out the time to the boys running past, hoping to break the ice.

"Are you going to break my other arm?" Hiccup asks wryly and she glares at him.

"Didn't I tell you not to piss me off?" She warns, pausing to call out times to the next group of boys.

"Yep, but I like danger. I'm macho like that." Even as he says it, he pales a little bit and she rolls her eyes.

"I'm supposed to apologize to you or I don't get to run tomorrow." She grudgingly admits and Hiccup scoffs.

"That's not an apology."

"What do you expect? A eulogy?" Her hands ball into fists and an alarm on the stopwatch rings out, seemingly affronted.

"No. Just an 'I'm sorry I broke your arm like a crazy person' or maybe even a 'hey, can I sign your cast? By the way, I'm sorry that I twisted your bones.' I'm not asking for too much." His eyes don't leave the stopwatch.

"Fine then. I'm sorry I broke your arm because you pissed me off."

"I didn't piss you off though." Why does he have to be so freaking combative? He's asking for it, and she can't do anything if she wants a chance at that record tomorrow.

"But you did. So I broke—"

"Yeah, yeah. You don't need to tell me that you broke my arm." He waves that horrible chunk of plaster around demonstratively. "I'm aware of the fact that I have a broken arm."

"I didn't mean to break it. I just meant to—I don't know. I was pissed. There wasn't really a plan. But I definitely wasn't trying to break your arm." She blurts, looking at her hand where fisting around the stopwatch had left little indented corners in her skin.

"Oh, that is _so _comforting. You shattered my skeletal structure without even meaning to. What a saint you are." Her hands ball back up into fists.

"If you don't want a matching set, you should really shut up now."

"You know what, Astrid? It's fine. I want you to run tomorrow. Gobber is nicer when you win stuff." Oh, well isn't he _practical_.

"So you accept my apology? Or whatever." She sneers, not sounding like someone who wants her apology accepted.

"Again, it wasn't much of an apology, but it's better for everyone if I just say that I accept it."

"Because Gobber is nicer," Astrid clarifies and Hiccup shrugs, a meek little motion practiced to look invisible.

"And I'm a little afraid that you'll snap my leg or something if you can't run tomorrow." He's afraid of her? Normally she gets kind of a sick pride from people fearing her, but looking at that _cast_…She's going to puke.

Her stomach hurls itself into a tantrum and Astrid whirls around, stomping up the hill. Why? Why does the thought of his snapping bones in her grip make her _feel_?

Like this. Why does it make her feel _like this_? She's been feeling this whole time.

Hasn't she?

It's just that—He—Hiccup, he has a name—is a person. He's like some nerdy _person_, and she _broke _him and now she's being forced to recognize his humanity. From her end, this is looking a lot like cruel and unusual punishment, isn't that unconstitutional?

The government should make Hiccup disappear, like some spy novel. But her part in it would invariably draw her in—

Fuck, she feels what must be actual _guilt_. This heavy sinking stone in the pit of her stomach that she wants to puke out and be done with. Yeah, this feeling? Not okay with her.

She stops in front of Gobber, looking sheepish and petulant but trying to glare, and the coach looks so _smug_. Astrid wonders what would happen if she broke Gobber's arm.

Right, she'd have another cast to look at. Another sickening eyesore. She would be forced to recognize Gobber as more than just a coach, he would become a person with a character and a plot and wishes and dreams—

_Hiccup_ has dreams and a character and a broken arm that's her fault—

_Guilt_.

"Did ye apologize?" Gobber asks sternly and Astrid's lips curl back, revealing a too hostile and visibly insecure snarl.

"I'm back here, aren't I?" She growls at him, crossing her arms and looking over his shoulder t her blue metal water bottle, sticking awkwardly up above the too long grass like a lightning pole. "So, forty hills?"

"Don' be stupid, ye have a race tomorrow. Three repeat 1600's at race pace." He produces that blue stopwatch and tosses it to her. She snatches it out of the air easily, still staring at him and waiting for whatever punishment is sure to follow. "Hiccup will time ye." Astrid's glare has never been so ferocious.

"I'll time myself—"

"Ye'll do as I say," Gobber insists, a reprimanding scowl on his face. Astrid frowns, plodding to get her water bottle. "An' stop wit' the stompin'. It's bad fer that knee o' yers." Astrid hides her hand in her side, making some less than polite gestures before stomping pointedly down the small hill towards the track.

She walks up behind Hiccup for what feels like the hundredth time in the last five minutes and drops her water bottle on the concrete noisily to get his attention. His head whips around to face her and she tosses the stopwatch at him, but as he's short a hand and not expecting the need for coordination, the watch clatters to the ground next to her bottle.

"You have to time me so I can run tomorrow."

"It seems like I have to do a lot of work for you to run tomorrow," Astrid sneers and resists the overpowering urge to shove him.

"I'm starting to remember why I felt the need to break your arm." She gripes, walking out onto the track and rolling her ankles slowly and purposefully.

"I thought you umm—that you didn't mean to—"

"I didn't! Just—Urg, you're annoying! Just time me. It's a 1600, four laps, I should be under six thirty. Got that?" Her knee twinges as she stretches her quad again, but she ignores it, standing prone to run. "Just do your job." It's starting to sound like a mantra, some sort of repeated line in a poem that fades into a litany of useless syllables.

Hiccup presses the start button, which emits shrill beeping noise, and then she's running. Booking it really, pushing her lungs against her fragile ribs and her shorts against the bruise on her hip and her knee is throbbing.

Four laps isn't that far, but it takes _forever_ when there's a clock on and every single time she passes the school she has to look at that _cast_.

She passes the finish line and puts her arms on top of her head. It shouldn't hurt this bad. How is she going to get that record tomorrow? Stupid bruises, making her miss two days of training.

"Time?" She's breathless and panting, and every heave of her chest makes her ribs burn.

That's when everything changes…again.

Suddenly, there's this hand brushing against hers, pushing her water bottle up against her fingers. She takes the water bottle, almost as a reflex and looks up wide eyed to Hiccup standing far too close to her.

"Six twenty three." He tells her, flatly, his voice completely devoid of emotion.

"But—Why did you give me this?" She unscrews the top of the water while she's gesturing to it and takes a tiny sip, just enough to wet her throat without cramping her up during the second set.

"I didn't give it to you, it's yours—"

"No shit." She'd be so much scarier if she weren't so breathless.

"You just looked like you needed some water." Astrid's jaw drops, and her face is a mask of an offended victim.

"You looked at me?" That's cause to break something else, right there!

"Of course. I was timing you. Was I supposed to do it by sound wave?" She doesn't blush. She's just red from overexertion.

"Oh." She takes another tiny sip of the water before putting the lid back on and dropping it on the ground. "I can take care of myself. You don't need to hand me things like that." Astrid steps back out onto the track, waiting for him to start the timer.

00000

Two miles and a cool-down later, Astrid is confused. Confused about everything. Life as she knows it being at the top of the list.

She waits until the end of practice before grabbing Scott's hand and dragging him across the parking lot and into the backseat of her car, in need of a distraction.

She needs to go back to that little world where Hiccup doesn't have a name or a cast.

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**I am responding to reviews. Y'all can expect your PM's tomorrow, I have a huge math competition so I need my sleep!**

**IWriteTooMuch: First of all, you don't write too much, love love love the long reviews. I love how much you like my Hiccup lines, and it's so freaking crazy how my story is echoing your life. That's awesome! oh, and I'm not sure if it's in this review or the last one, but I totally know what you mean about the window. I opened a door into my face and broke my nose. And Astrid does have a conscience, as we see here, her character is developing and changing and really hates that cast. So we'll see. All in good time**

**I am me: Yeah, she's not happy, but she's smart enough not to go shattering more bones. She could get in huge trouble for all of this.**

**Gummy Bears: Don't kill me! I'm glad you're enjoying it**

**jf: I'm glad you like my Toothless interpretation, that gave me a lot of grief**

**Anonymous: I'm so glad that you're making an exception for my story and I hope that you continue to enjoy it!**

**Cowboy hat: I'm so glad to give you a break from real literature…I'm so happy that you like the sarcasm and the Toothless and no. Astrid isn't having a happy life thus far. Not happy. We'll learn more about it. That's awesome about your ancestry and yes, Astrid would be that cruel. She would totally send him with a sticky note saying exactly what brand and type she wanted and if he got different ones, she'd send him back. But he'd love it.**

**Double Rainbow: You're making me blush! I'm so glad that you like both this and plans so much! It's amazing!**

**Seriously, PM love for the rest of you tomorrow!**

**Fierce and Love (Tyra Banks…Love you if you're reading this…yeah, right)**


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm not dead! Just a senior and busy and I'm sorry! Don't hate me. **

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Hiccup is perplexed.

Well a hop, skip, and a jump past confused at least.

Astrid Hofferson talked to him, and sure she was as openly hostile as ever but she didn't punch, shove, or break him! It's an accomplishment for someone who was a mere punching bag a few days ago.

And best of all, best of all in a completely backwards and confusing way, she turns this queasy shade of green every time she glances at his cast. She really can't seem to keep her eyes off of it, and…and it feels pretty good. Even though she's glaring at the arm that she shattered herself, it feels damn good to have Astrid Hofferson's eyes on him.

Still though, it's confusing, because he has to wonder, why does she feel sick over _his_ cast?

She's, well, _her_. She must have broken thousands of arms before his, why the sudden emotion?

He sits on the hill, waiting for Fishlegs to be done with practice and trying to get through some of his make-up homework before he goes home and drugs his stupid throbbing arm until he can't feel anything anymore.

Sometimes that might be nice, to feel nothing.

But then again, then he wouldn't feel anything…

Whatever, he's not making any sense, he needs to talk about this with someone. And as a nerd with only one real friend that means waiting until football practice is over. He just needs to validate it, before he comes out of some coma in a hospital with a couple of more broken limbs, and some ex-athlete orthopedic surgeon tells him how Astrid snapped his skeleton _this_ time, because there is no way in hell that he's actually still okay after being so lippy with her today.

And he handed her that water bottle. What was with that decision? Not really the most intelligent decision he's ever made in his life…

He _touched _her. His fingers _rubbed_ against hers. He touched her skin _and_ she didn't hit him…

Okay, this definitely isn't real. He's definitely in some hospital in a coma missing a limb…or two…

Just as he's staring off into the distance, rolling his ankle and imagining what it would be like if it suddenly weren't _attached_.

Fishlegs slumps out of the locker room, breaking Hiccup's concentration, and the wounded boy shoves his physics book awkwardly into his backpack and stands up, slinging the bag over his good shoulder one-handed.

"Hey, Hiccup. What are you still doing here? Do you need another ride to the hospital?"

"No, I don't need a ride to the hospital—" Hiccup frowns at his friend.

"Really? I saw you talking to Astrid, and there was a 98.27% chance that she'd hurt you again." Fishlegs warns earnestly and retroactively and Hiccup shrugs.

"She—She didn't. She – God, this sounds insane – she kind of apologized…" He admits, waving the cast demonstratively with his voice full of wonder and the football player's eyes go wide.

"That's never happened before. It is a well-known fact that Astrid Hofferson has not said 'sorry' or any of its synonyms for at least 3.85 years."

"Well she did." Fishlegs's eyes look like they're about to pop out of his head. "She wasn't all rosy and sweet or anything, but it was an apology." The blonde boy is a clear disbeliever. "You know, she actually seemed a little sick or something, she went all green every time she looked at this." He waves the cast around again, wincing as it pangs. He needs those pain pills.

"How much pain killer have you had? Are you sure you don't need a ride home?"

"Not enough." A dead, uncomfortable silence. "I had like half of a pill at seven this morning." A slightly more concerned silence. "I'm serious! She really apologized this time! It's not like those other times when I imagined it, really." Fishlegs shakes his head.

"Whatever you say, Hiccup." The two start to walk towards the parking lot and Fishlegs stops suddenly, one finger pointing dramatically upwards. "Oh! I forgot to tell you, I can't come over to work on the catapult tomorrow night, I got invited to a party at Tuff's house." Fishlegs can't seem to keep the smug little grin off of his round face, and Hiccup's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline.

"Is this—Can you bring—Maybe, possibly it could be considered an _open_ invitation—"

"No!" Fishlegs shakes his head, panicked and adamant.

"Well…okay then…"

00000

The next day, Hiccup finds himself standing under a white tent, shielding himself from the sudden downpour. Even before it had started raining, there had been a nervous atmosphere surrounding the team.

It seems that everyone, including a twitchy anxious Gobber, is worried about their golden girl. Apparently, missing two days of running around right before a big meet is something of a big deal. This doesn't really make any biological sense to Hiccup, as she could run really fast before and the period of rest was only two days. Shouldn't she be just as fast now?

It's really not evolutionarily advantageous for her muscular, cardiovascular and respiratory systems to degrade _that_ quickly…

Great, now Gobber is literally down on his good knee, grabbing at her calf. Astrid plants a hand on her coach's face and pushes, simultaneously yanking her leg from his grip. She glances over at Hiccup, whose eyes flit back down to his blank clipboard.

He tries his best to radiate the sentiment that he definitely has never looked at her ever, but it doesn't seem to work because a second later, she's standing too close to his side, and he can't even run away because of the rain. Why? The one time it rains in this desert climate, Astrid Hofferson just has to be right there looking murderous.

She glances at his cast, and he can't help but frown a little as she looks queasy. So confusing.

His hand starts to sweat inside of the cast.

"Umm…Hi, Astrid. Hi…hey, Astrid…" She scowls at him to shut him up but he can just feel her eyes prickling all over his cast.

He really wishes she'd stop looking at it like that.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Hiccup does some odd shrugging, flinching motion, expecting to be hit for looking at her when he didn't have a qualified reason. He wants some of the anger that made him so brave the day before. "I'm standing over here," she adds after a too silent moment of deliberation and Hiccup's eyes go wide.

"Umm…Hmm, really? Okay—"

"I'm just sick of everyone telling me that I can't do this today. I can do it! I'm just fine!" She growls, her hands forming tight little fists. She's not really all that tall, Hiccup notices in a scatterbrained fearful thought. Really a few inches shorter than him, and he's not tall by any means.

He can't believe he's never actually registered the height of his _dream_ girl, but now it's hard to stop thinking about how _petite_ she is. With her runner's build and short stature, it's amazing that she could even produce the torque to cause his injury.

"I know—"

"Shut up." She stands there, doing some odd stretch that has her bending over and making him feel all warm and twitchy. Why are her uniform shorts so short? And oh _God_, if he turned his head just right, which he definitely isn't doing, he could see the line of her underwear beneath the white fabric.

He hates the fact that he still finds her insanely attractive, even after she snapped him like a dry stick.

A dry stick getting hit by lightning in a rain storm and catching on fire to illuminate the way that the raindrops soak into Astrid Hofferson's white uniform and make it cling translucently to her skin—

Hiccup fakes a yawn, jamming a hand in his front pocket.

"Am I boring you?" Astrid snarls, looking up at him and twisting into some other pose where he can _almost_ see down her shirt—

Stop it, Hiccup! Not with the ogling.

No.

He's the one with the whole speech about how he respects her on a deeper level or something...God, she has nice legs…

She broke his arm! He shouldn't think that she's hot after that! No.

It's just wrong.

Crap, she asked a question didn't she? Aah, he hasn't answered her yet, she's going to do hari-kari on him with her teeth—

Shit, that's hot—

No!

Umm, answer her! Say something. Anything…

"Yes?" He mumbles, a shade of red not yet invented by Crayola. Astrid stands up, hands poised threateningly on her hips, but even Hiccup can see just how pointedly she's trying to ignore his cast.

"Oh, so I am _boring_." She drawls, a kind of threatening bravado-filled sound that she must have picked up from the ever-terrifying Ruff Thorston at some point.

"No! No…I just f-forgot the question—"

"Why are you even talking to me?" She interrupts, exasperated, leaning down to pull the stringy little laces on her ruddy shoes inexorably tighter. "Yesterday, this," she waves a hand in his general direction, "was all _human_. But today?" An unimpressed glance up and down that makes Hiccup feel like he belongs in a landfill. "Pathetic…I've got to go." His heart drops through the pit of her stomach and pounds a mournful tattoo against his masculinity. He shouldn't care…

But he does.

The gun goes off and the girls charge by.

"Well, don' jus' stand thar! Get over te the finish! Ye've got a course record to catch!" Gobber is a red, sweaty mess, waving his stump around and clutching at a stopwatch.

Maybe if Hiccup's real reason for wanting Astrid to run is Gobber's improved attitude…who's he kidding?

Hiccup picks up the blue water bottle and ducks through the rain to the finish line.

00000

Ever since the ninth grade when Hiccup first saw – and admittedly stared at – Astrid, he has admired her. Since puberty, he has fantasized about her. Since their first honors class together, he has idolized her.

Never until this second, when she's charging down the finishing stretch neck in neck with another girl has he ever doubted her.

Both girls are 20 seconds ahead of the record, despite the mud in the second mile, but they couldn't look any more different. One of them, a confident looking brunette from Frozen Bluff high school, looks like she could run five more miles, even though she's sprinting so hard it must hurt.

Astrid – Hiccup can't believe it – but she looks _awful_. Pale and exhausted and gimpy, with mud splattered up her legs and—

She's pulling away.

Hiccup finds himself jumping up and down, yelling and screaming. It's so close, it's so freaking close, but Astrid is somehow tugging the lead away, taking it. She _doesn't_ lose.

Astrid charges through the finish line inches before the other girl…and promptly bends over heaving.

Hiccup catches the time, looking forward to Gobber being happy with him and with the team and life in general…and suddenly the water bottle feels very heavy dangling from his plaster encased hand. He skitters over towards her, pushing past a panting brunette who doesn't quite seem to comprehend the fact that she lost, and holds the water bottle out to her.

She snatches it from him, fumbling the lid off and pouring a stream into her mouth and standing up, brusquely wiping her chin with the back of her hand. He stands there for a moment, and she's silent, and a little seed of pain sneaks into his broken arm.

She didn't even _thank_ him…

"You're welcome…" Hiccup turns and stalks off in search of Gobber.

00000

Seven am Saturday morning, Hiccup is in his kitchen, auburn hair sticking out in all directions while he scarfs down an apple. Stupid cross country keeps him too busy during the week, so he's trying to make two shifts up at the animal shelter today. But he doesn't really want to go, he has a very warm wolf curled around his feet, and the house is quiet and still—

Too quiet!

He can't remember when the chain-saw like snoring upstairs ceased and he hunches down, tugging Toothless to his feet and ushering him towards the patio door, a panicked expression on his drowsy face. The sleepy wolf looks up at him with huge pitiful eyes, pretending that the damp grass is going to kill him, and Hiccup sighs, kneeling down and letting the long pink tongue run over his cheeks, syrupy and dog-smelling.

"I know, bud, I know." He wishes that the wolf could just stay inside, curled up in front of the fire, like everyone else's pets. Then again, most people's pets aren't famously terrifying and huge… "I'll be back later, okay?" Hiccup adjusts the leather band around the wolf's foreleg and chest, making sure that no skin is being pinched, before tugging Toothless outside and shutting the door. The big black shape trots glumly towards the tree to find somewhere dry to spend the day.

Hiccup really doesn't want to deal with his father either, so he shoves the prescription vial of pain pills in his pocket and tiptoes out the front door, shuffling across the lawn to his car.

The drive is eerily foggy, as the dry Colorado ground refused to absorb the rain from the day before and is instead perfuming the air with it, making the rolling hills of the foothills look like something out of a third rate Scottish werewolf movie. The animal shelter looms in the mist at the end of the road, a boxy cement prison that echoes a feeling of foreboding into the parking lot.

The sight gives Hiccup chills, and admittedly it's not the nicest place to be. Most of the floor-space is underground, and everything is made of crudely poured concrete and never seems to be cool enough somehow. It doesn't make physical sense, and Hiccup has long attributed the strange baking sensation to the horrible HVAC, but still…

When the dogs are running around, it's not so bad, because it's a lively warmth, but when he's alone, walking that long main hallway…

Claustrophobia.

Compared to his asthma, small size, nerdiness and apparently brittle bones, his profound discomfort with small spaces hasn't ever really caused him all that much strife. It's not even that large of a problem, he's fine in a car, or in a room with the door shut, and he can suck it up long enough to work with the dogs.

It's just that hallway, walking with the thought of tons and tons of dirt and concrete hovering above him ready to fall and _crush_—

"Hey girl!" Hiccup greets the first dog enthusiastically, kneeling down beside her blue-gray boxy head and scratching behind her ear. She yawns, pushing her head against his hand and showing off the filed teeth that got her here. Like most dogs in this particular shelter, she's a veteran of dog fighting, as is shown by the impressive scar on her side.

The worst part about it is most of the dogs aren't safe still. There's such a stigma surrounding these breeds. People _think_ that they know about pit bulls, they _know_ that the dogs will gnaw on the children for fun. They _know_ that a Rottweiler would hunt down grandma. And they _know_ that the dogs _want_ to kill, and that they'd never just roll over and want their bellies rubbed or curl up on someone's feet and take a nap.

Everything they _know_ about these dogs is _wrong_.

Hiccup leaves the lazy girl with a sigh, walking over to food storage and dragging out a bin into the first row of dog cages. There's not much food left, and there haven't been enough donations ever since they ran out of puppies that April. State funding is barely enough to pay the rent at this point.

All of the funding is going to pretty kittens and ponies and Pomeranians. Not sad dogs whose fathers don't love them and who got all beaten up for no reason, other than the fact that someone mean decided that their pain wasn't worth anything—

The sad thing is that it's just early on a Saturday morning and Hiccup is grumpy and exhausted. He's still just as enamored with Astrid Hofferson as ever. He even thought she was beautiful yesterday, puking and heaving and winning. She's everything that he's not and she has actually _talked _to him.

And broke his arm.

She's so angry. So angry and feisty…and his arm makes her sick. She feels something like regret about his arm and it's…beautiful. God, it's probably just that he's a seventeen year old boy, but he just keeps coming back to the fact that she's beautiful.

And he can manage to be so sarcastic with her at the same time as he's a completely bumbling idiot. She brings out this different side of him. It's like…every second is warm and terrifying…and…and it can't even be explained by math _or_ science!

He kind of hates it.

By the time he's fed all of the dogs and filled their water bowls, the fog is gone and the comparatively dry air feels positively boring. Everything is quiet and he wonders if Gobber is at the Haddock house, complaining about his managerial failures.

He decides to work with a particularly chunky Rottweiler who acts like a huge vegetarian blob, and he has him rolling over on command when Gobber strides in, an unfamiliar man with a too familiar appearance on his heels.

The guy isn't heavyset, but hulking, with odd domed shoulders and muscles that radiate something menacing and drugged bravado. His suit is tweed, obviously well made and expensive, but tacky, like something a child puts on when pretending to be a rich up and comer in the world of organized crime. So tacky that it's terrifying really. The man's detachment from reality is baffling, just from his clothes, and Hiccup doesn't want to talk to him.

His face tells the rest of the story. It's hard, blocky and dumb looking with a tinge of cruelty.

Obviously the guy has money, and from the way he's glancing around at the bulkiest dogs…

Another dog fighter.

The guy walks over to Hiccup, carefully flashing the alligator skin of his Wellingtons.

"This one? Rott? How old?" Hiccup does his best not to glare.

"97."

"What did you say to me?" Does he have a gun?

Probably.

"In dog years. An old man really. He's late for a shuffleboard game actually." A snap of Hiccup's fingers and the dog is on his feet, staring warily at the man who's type he knows all too well. The angry fear in the dogs' eyes is the worst part of these particular visitors.

Hiccup leaves the room, the dog on his heels.

At least he walked away from that fight.

Then again, if given a choice, he'd probably choose to take on that guy over Astrid Hofferson any day of the week.

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**Yeah, a villainous type, some sexual frustration…a confused Hiccup, and the eternally bitchy Astrid. **

**I promise my update will be on time on Monday! **

**Oh, and thanks to Hicc for reminding me a thousand billion times that I was late and forcing me to break through the writers block!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Yes, I know that this is two weeks and two days late. I'm sorry, life got in the way. There were AP tests, a chronic case of senioritis, a term paper, an impromptu road trip halfway across the country…punishment for taking said road trip, prom, and a bunch of stressed out sleepless nights…but I believe I'm back! At least until graduation…where you guys can just be awesome and accept some late updates? Cool, thanks!**

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"Do you just want my phone number?" Astrid's head flies off of its resting place on her desk at his question.

"What?" Why would she want his _phone-number_? Is he _hitting on her_? _ Hitting_ on _her_? Her face must show the aghast anger barely held back by the queasiness that always smacks her when his cast pervades his vision.

"So if you ever decide to work on this project…you can call and leave me ideas." She scowls at him.

"So practical. Shut up." Her head lands back on the desk with a thunk as she snuggles further into her awkward half-prone position. God, whoever invented these school desks must have just been plotting to keep her from getting a good nap. What did they have against _her_ anyway?

It's too silent for a minute, and there's just this buzz of white noise from the other groups jabbering on about inconsequential things and Astrid wants to bark at them to shut up. They don't need to be talking. She groans into her arms, pressing her cheek against the cold desk, and sighs dramatically.

"You were the one who made some point about how you didn't want me to do the project—" Hiccup starts with an overdramatic sarcastic air and Astrid sneers up at him.

"Fine, do it if you want to that badly. I don't care. I have better things to do." Her head thunks back onto the desk and she stares at the barely there patterning of gray on gray flecks within the plastic. There's a scratching sound floating somewhere above her head and a slip of paper slides onto her desk. She looks at the ten digits, incredulous.

"If you decide you have any input…what-so-ever…" He addresses her snippily, and she recognizes the impossible…he's not hitting on her…

What? Some little nerd goes out of his way to talk to her, and doesn't press charges after she breaks his arm? None of this makes sense. It makes less sense now than when she was snapping his arm.

She slips the phone number into the deep, felt-lined pocket of her sweatpants, and it feels like a ten pound barbell.

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"Why-o do yo have-o to el learn-o espanol when-o I can el punch-o los mexicanos?" Scott asks, his head falling forward onto the table with a leaden thunk. Astrid sighs and raps the back of his head sharply with her pen.

"You have to learn it to graduate-o, dumb-ass." He wraps an arm around her, dragging her to him with a heavy hand on her ribs, and she shoves him away with a sock to the jaw. "Bruises."

"Oh yeah, right." His hand moves down to her lower back and slips underneath her shirt. "That's so crazy that you tripped onto rocks shaped like hands…I wonder if there's a rock shaped like my face! That would be so cool…"

"Chiseled…" Astrid murmurs sarcastically, glancing back down at his Spanish book. "Come on, do your homework." He hugs her more carefully this time avoiding the _rock_ bruises.

"But I don't want to do my homework, I want to _do_—" Astrid elbows him in the ribs.

"Seriously. I don't have long. Just finish your homework." His hand creeps up her stomach and she pinches it.

"But babe—"

"Do you want to be here when my dad gets home?" She threatens…and as much as she hates to admit it, to her it sounds like a real threat. Being forced to deal with Alan Hofferson…not exactly a jog in the park.

"Parents love me—" There has never been door that slammed at a more convenient time…by a less convenient person…

"Astrid, sweetie, what do you say we go get some fish and chips at Clancy's," The effortlessly hulking man slumps into the room, a terrifying clarity in his eyes.

The only thing more terrifying and unpredictable than an inebriated father is a sober one. Astrid hasn't known her father to be reliably sober in five years, and the lack of alcoholic fumes on his breath leaves the stench of unpredictability completely unfettered and noxious.

"Sup Papa H?" Scott greets, that cordial frat boy charm completely immune to the tense atmosphere. Astrid sees that little twitch in her father's forehead that almost makes her knees shake. This…she has to run next week!

"Who is this sweetheart?" The pet name doesn't feel endearing. It feels like a threat, and she steels her eyes. Show no fear, no pain. She doesn't show fear. Even thought this is really going to hurt…

"Name's Scott. Scott Nout." And the boy flashes his pearly whites in that broadly appealing way at once mischievous and wholesome.

"You'd better be gay." The cheeriness is gone from Mr. Hofferson's voice. All that's left is a stony dull shadow that feels like an anvil on Astrid's shoulders.

"All this manly prowess?" Scott laughs in that too charming way that makes Astrid's skin crawl. Fake, he's so fake. "You're a funny guy Mr. H."

Scott is out on the street thirty two seconds later and Astrid is faced with a plum colored man, barreling up the stairs at her. She dodges the charge, but the hallway is narrow, and a heavy ham of a hand thumps against the small of her back and she's going down…down…down the stairs.

She hits an elbow…a knee…her chest…the back of her head smacks against the floor with a resounding crack and her vision flies into a triple cascade of color and too bright light. She scrambles to her feet, her shoulder smacking against a door knob, forcing her to bite her lip to stifle the following groan.

Her father's fist connects with her nose before the collage of swirling shapes has consolidated into anything resembling reality.

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It's not until she finally dashes out of the house and runs down the street that Astrid realizes she has absolutely no one to call. She scrolls through the phone in her sweatpants pocket, trying to find someone – anyone – who would come down here in the middle of the night and pick her up.

But there's no one.

This phone that's full of contacts, but empty of shoulders to cry on, starts to peel back the rosy façade. Fraying the perfect edges of her perfect life. These aren't friends, these are good times party buddies, people that she can call when she needs a keg, not a ride and a place to crash.

She can't call Scott because he is grounded, and if she's honest with herself, she's pretty sure that he wouldn't let her spend the night if no sex is involved. Astrid sighs, shoving the phone back into her pocket and trudging down the street to the church on the corner. Aren't churches supposed to be all about helping people? Shouldn't there be some gentle old woman with a steaming plate of cookies hovering about the front door looking for homeless people who are down on their luck?

But really, it's a good thing that the pristine white building is locked up and dark. She's still not sure how she's planning to handle her nose gushing all over the place. Of course, in her current situation, going into public is necessary, but what will people think? Why did he slip up and hit her in such an obvious place this time? He's always been careful before, she's never had to go too far out of her way to hide it. What is she going to say at school?

Astrid sits down on a boulder in the church courtyard, resting her head on her palm. It feels nice to be so still, she could just fall asleep…

Wait, her head hit the tile floor pretty hard, she most likely has at least a mild concussion. She forces herself to sit up straight and stay awake, not wanting to fall asleep in case she is concussed. But then again, maybe a coma is just what she needs. Weeks and weeks of sleep, time in a hospital, time away from school, the idea is sounding pretty good.

No, she can't just miss practice like that! State is in six weeks, and if she slacks off at all anyone could just jog up and grab her rightful first place.

Astrid decides to try her phone again, because surely she must have missed someone who will help her, and when she pulls it out of her pocket a small scrap of white paper follows it and flutters to the ground. She bends down and picks it up, hating the way that her nose throbs ever so much more when she inverts her head, and squints at the writing, trying to decipher the penciled letters from the lines of the notebook paper with only the hazy light of a nearby streetlamp.

_Hiccup_

_303 555 1289_

Before she really knows what she's doing, the number is entered and the phone is pressed up against her ear. Astrid doesn't know what to say to him, she doesn't even know why she called him, but she heaves a sigh of relief when the line clicks to life after three rings.

"Hello? Who's dead?" The boy on the other end yawns loudly into the mouthpiece, causing a cascade of static to assault her ear.

"Hiccup? It's Astrid." There's nothing but silence for a moment, and she fears that she just got rejected.

"It's kind of 2:39 in the morning," Hiccup says. As if she called to ask him the time.

"I know what time it is." She snaps, but the anger makes her head throb and she swears that she can feel another scalding rivulet of blood flow from her nose.

"So why are you calling?"

"Meet me at Denny's." It's the only fluorescent sign that she can see from her perch, and suddenly the yellow and red hexagonal sign seems like an oasis.

"What?" Astrid really can't understand why Hiccup isn't following her. She told him to meet her at Denny's. End of story.

"You heard me."

"It's 2:40 in the morning." He sounds a little whiny, and it's tempting to hang up the phone. Her thumb even goes so far as to hover over the little red button for a minute before she exhales calmly, willing herself to give this conversation a second chance.

"We've already established that I know what time it is. Are you going to meet me or not?" Hiccup sighs into the phone and another snippet of static rushes into her ear.

"Which Denny's?" She smiles a little to herself, before realizing that smiling right now is a completely bizarre and irrational reaction and setting her face back into a scowl. Anyone with streams of gore decorating their face as wholly as hers should definitely be scowling, it's just the sensible expression.

"32nd and I-70."

"Give me fifteen minutes."

"Ok," she says into the mouthpiece of the phone before hanging up. Now that she's off of the phone, the impulse to sleep returns, and she stands up, trudging in the direction of her own personal Mecca in order to stay awake.

It takes about ten minutes for her to arrive in the small, unoccupied parking lot, and she leans against the wall, banging her head against the brick whenever she fears that she might be about to go to sleep. She contemplates finding something to wash the blood from her face, but figures that it will probably just be better to wait until she can use the sink inside. Plus, if she goes in there bleeding, she might get just enough pity to get free food. Hell, everyone will probably think that Hiccup is an abusive boyfriend, and she'll get free stuff out of sympathy for her situation. Normally, Astrid Hofferson is far too proud to hope for any sort of pity, but she hasn't eaten since that afternoon, and she also happens to be completely out of money.

Desperately calling someone who she has talked to as many times as she's maimed at two thirty in the morning is one thing, asking them to buy her food is a complete different story. She is not some pathetic girl who can't take care of herself. If that asshole hadn't hidden her fucking keys, she wouldn't even need the ride in the first place.

Just a few minutes later, an older looking SUV type car pulls into the parking lot, and a kind of familiar scrawny figure gets out of the drivers seat. Hiccup is wearing plaid pajama pants and a school hoodie, while his hair sticks up every which way. He looks both ways, searching for another car in the parking lot, before he spots Astrid leaning up against the side of the building.

He shuffles over to her, moving like he's still a little more than half-asleep, and freezes when he's standing about a yard away.

"What happened to your nose?"

"What? You don't like the adjustment?" She says menacingly, daring him to continue asking about it and showing him her surely swollen and misshapen profile.

"Maybe if there weren't so much blood in the way." He says sarcastically and somehow she loves it. Hardly anyone ever reacts to her presence in any way other than fear or worship, and it's amazing how unenamored of her he seems at the moment. She is certifiably sure that he's not hitting on her, and…her eyes itch. What does that mean?

"Seriously though, is it too bad?" If all goes according to plan, which it will, she's going to be winning the state cross country championship in six weeks, and she cannot look like a potato has been tacked onto her face and is calling itself a nose.

"Again, the blood is a little distracting." Hiccup yawns and just seeing it makes the urge to sleep return full force. She's also starting to feel alarmingly giggly and her eyes feel like she rubbed sand in them, and considering her current predicament, that's probably just another sign of brain damage. She reaches up to feel the tender lump that's swelling from the back of her head and hisses as her fingers make contact with the protrusion.

"Are we going inside or what?" She doesn't wait for an answer and pushes inside, ignoring the critical look from the exhausted and bored looking waitress who comes over to greet her. She walks directly to the bathroom and pushes through the door, putting her hands on either side of the sink and staring into the smooth porcelain bowl. It can't be that bad. Why does she care so much anyway?

Right, because her status is half athleticism and half looks.

She eventually builds up enough courage to tilt her head up and stare at her reflection. The first thing that she notices is the blood, dripping down her chin and over her lips, landing in blurry gruesome dots on the chest of her tee-shirt, and still trickling out of her nose in a scalding and vibrant stream. She turns the water on cold and cups her hands, using them to gently rinse the gore from her face, revealing her swollen nose.

It's really not too awful, both of her eyes are starting to blacken and there is a swollen lump on the bridge of her nose where before there was only a smooth ski-slope, but it's tolerable. It seems that with the angle of his punch, he hadn't even made it all that crooked. Maybe it was shifted a little too far to the left, but that could also be the fact that she's a little dizzy and the world is trying really hard to spin out from under her.

After inspecting her profile for a few seconds she shakes her head and walks back out into the restaurant, searching for her ride, hoping that her disappearance into the bathroom didn't give him some cue to leave. She scans the dining room and sees her mythology project partner sitting in a corner booth, his head down on his folded hands on the table. The plaster of his cast is visible as a solid looking bulge under his sweatshirt's sleeve

"Is it going to the left?" She asks, pointing to her nose as she sits down on the opposite side of the booth. Hiccup lifts his head up, and stares blankly at Astrid, bleary eyed an exhausted. It's three in the morning and he's at Denny's. And the most beautiful girl he's ever seen keeps snapping at him and asking him if her broken nose is hideous.

And she kind of looks like she's about to cry or something, but it's like she hasn't even realized that she's sad yet.

This is a weird dream.

"You know, you never actually told me how you _adjusted _your face." Astrid almost punches him, because that would shut him up, but then it strikes her that she doesn't actually feel violent at the moment. That and the thought of his bones cracking again makes her stomach churn…or maybe that's the blood loss. She's mostly sleepy and a little confused, because she keeps staring at Hiccup's eyes like a freak.

They are like some insanely brilliant emerald color and surrounded by obnoxiously thick, dark, lashes. And he said something confrontational, but she's here staring at his eyes like an idiot.

"You have pretty eyes." She blurts, her eyes going wide, because that wasn't meant to come out of her mouth!

"Maybe it's the back of your head I should be worrying about. You're probably concussed." He mumbles, blushing because Astrid Hofferson just said that he had pretty eyes. When she'd broken his arm and then gotten pinned with him for this project, he'd never thought that anything like _this_ would happen. Honestly he'd assumed that he'd do all of the work and she'd stand and be pretty and say whatever he wrote, and then they'd get an A.

But here they are now.

"There's nothing wrong with the back of my head!" She protests, even though talking that loudly makes the offending bump behind her ear throb angrily.

"Yes, there is, you keep on reaching up there and wincing." Hiccup asserts, pointing to the hand that is in fact lightly touching the swollen place on her scalp.

"Why do you care?" She should have just gone to Scott's. She could have just let him have his fun and then she could be in his cozy basement, not having to explain herself.

"Because if you have a mysterious concussion, I'm taking you to the hospital." He says with exhausted conviction.

"No!" Her alarmed reply makes sense of the situation to Hiccup. Someone hit her, and she probably fell over or knocked her head against a wall or something. He grimaces, it was that thug Scott. He feels oddly protective and violated, considering that he really has no say in the matter, and wishes that he had some sort—No! She broke his arm! Why does he care like this?

He feels sick.

Astrid watches a menagerie of expressions flit across Hiccup's face, through those eyes. She should have stopped looking at his cast a lot sooner, his eyes are a better view…What? She's been nothing but a bitch to him—

"I'm a bitch." Astrid proclaims suddenly, and her eyes burn wetly. Could that be…tears? Seriously?

Hiccup thinks about that for a second, the sudden awareness of reality astounding him. But something about the distinctly glassy look in her eyes and the bump on the back of her head and the way that she turns positively minty whenever she glances at his cast…

"No, you're not a bitch. You act like a bitch, there's a difference."

"What does that even mean?" Astrid snaps, but there's this odd froggy quality to her voice that she doesn't understand.

Her vision blurs and a single tear splats onto the green Formica table top between them. Hiccup stares at the water, confused before suddenly a dry sobbing nose escapes from her, shattering the silence.

Astrid Hofferson is _crying_.

Her eyes are wide and bleary, and she doesn't quite comprehend what's going on or why it's happening, but everything hurts. She runs a shaky hand back through her hair, a habitual calming mechanism, and opens her mouth to say something, but all that escapes is some moist gargle that for some surely idiotic reason brings on another round of that pathetic sobbing.

Hiccup hides his cast under the table and stares at her like she's some sort of mythical dragonesque beast that's not meant to exist.

"Oh god, I m a complete bitch," Astrid moans dramatically, sniffling and wiping her nose with the back of her hand and whimpering pathetically when the forceful motion tweaks the bruised feature. "Ouch."

Hiccup can honestly say he's never seen anyone look this miserable…including himself. Before this moment, his own face staring back at him from the bathroom mirror has remained his standard of suffering. But here is Astrid Hofferson, looking a lot less pretty than usual, sobbing all over herself and changing _everything_.

She carelessly glances her fingers past the lump on her head again and winces, and before Hiccup really knows what he's doing, he's grabbing her moistly too warm hand in his undamaged one and standing up.

"Come on, you seriously need to go to the hospital and have that head wound looked at." Astrid jerks her hand away from the contact.

"Don't touch me!" She jumps too quickly to her feet and wobbles, the blood loss and stress of the night getting to her. Again, Hiccup's arm seems to move of it's own accord, and his hand lands solidly against the small of her back, steadying her, and the socket of his shoulder tingles like someone is running dangerous amperages of current through his peripheral nervous system.

Or lightning. It's not a specifically technical term, but it feels like the crack of light that splits the sky just before the thunder shakes him through to his very core.

Astrid is smart enough not to shrug him off this time.

It's not like she _needs_ the support or anything…she's just not feeling up to fighting him off at the second.

"Just let me help you to my car. Then you can break my other arm," Hiccup offers wryly and Astrid sniffs indignantly, that full throated gargling feeling returning full force. She glimpses at his cast from the corner of a red stinging eye and her stomach flips artfully.

"I don't need your help." She crosses her arms and totters dramatically, forcing Hiccup to touch her _more_. His hand feels like it's going to shake off of his body because he's _touching_ Astrid Hofferson…and it doesn't even hurt. Sure, it kind of hurts his pride, because he knows he'll never get to touch her again, never going to get to touch her like he means it…but the smooth corded steel of her back under his fingers feels remarkably nice.

"R-right. You're just fine, it's the ground that's shaking." He pointedly ignores the gaping staff that are treating this like some critically acclaimed soap opera.

Astrid glares at the ground and allows herself to be lead out to the SUV in the parking lot. As much as she hates to admit it, the hospital might not be such an awful idea.

She just _cried_…

For that to happen there must be something deeply wrong with her brain.

Hiccup tries to open the door for her, but she snatches it away, clumsily crawling into the passenger seat and leaning against the door with tightly crossed arms trying to hold herself together.

Why is she getting in the car with Hiccup? And letting him drive her around? She has to have some better reason aside from the fact that she has no other options…

She'll have to make one up when her head hurts less.

Right now though…she supposes she can allow him to drive her to the hospital.

But—God, she's a bitch. It seems that saying it out lout got the obvious horror actually into her mind somehow. She's a nasty bitch with no moral fiber. It's still sinking in…but as Hiccup pulls out of the parking lot and onto the dim street towards the nearest hospital, it begins to feel like a _favor_ more than a privilege.

"Thanks," she mumbles with a shrug, tilting her head and trying to assess the bump in her nose from the reflection in his blocky rear view mirror. It's not so bad, Scott won't notice.

"It's—I'm not going to just _leave_ you—I…I _don't_ act like a bitch," Hiccup explains, obviously uncomfortable as he seems to get impossibly smaller, nearly disappearing into his seat.

"But I do…" Astrid pouts slightly, closing her eyes and leaning more conventionally against the side of the car. 'I don't…I don't _want_ to be awful."

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**So…emotional chapter, I'd absolutely love to know what you think…now, some of the reviews I got for the last chapter weren't exactly appreciated…not because I can't take criticism, I truly do adore those of you who care enough about the quality of this story to criticize…but…well, if these review responses are abominably blunt…that's what I'm going for…**

**Thanks so much to: Voldyne, Shayna7767, OmarBarria, Hicc (who helped me SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO much with this chapter!), Gentrie, Leon Woon, Romance and Musicals, RockstarVikingAngel, CrazyDyslexicNerd, Mythlor, Animal Charmer 11, Starryflower, ZemyxDexion, ClassicCartoon27, Chaela-laughluuurver, hopelessromantic121, Hazins, ketbelle**

**Anonymous folks!**

**Party Hat: Sorry, I disappeared again. Hope you didn't worry! I was just busy being a thoughtless teenager…sorry…And I'm so happy that you see the pitbull connection (but I'm wildly sorry about what happened to yours. They're beautiful dogs with such a bad rep) **

**Idiot Thinker: Wow, I am so flattered that I keep you coming back! And took my time with this one…but I really like it and I hope you will too! And yes, they're characters are moving along…but slowly so as to remain realistic…so I hope…Thanks so much and keep reading!**

**Hey Man: A little bit of a dick…but honestly even I knew that the last chapter was not up to par. I'm hoping that it willl appear so within the context of the entire story, and I hope that you really like this one!**

**love how to train your dragon: Shhhhh! Don't tell anyone what's going to happen! It has to be our secret! (Well, us and Hicc, because he has way more spoilers than he should at this point…but he's awesome so it's okay)…and your other review…not three to four months. No where close actually. three weeks and two days, I may be busy but I would never leave you guys hanging that long, and if I did I would provide explanation or something. Three weeks is shameful enough as it is…it doesn't need to be exaggerated…Keep reading? Sorry if I'm pulling an Astrid with that and acting like a b word**

**I write too much: Sorry, don't have much to say…except sorry you didn't have much to fangirl about and white tee-shirt moments are the spice of life. Keep reading! Hope you like this chapter better!**

**storymaster: Yes, I have read Determamfidd's stories and I love them, but I don't in any way see writing for this fandom as a competition with her. I see it as a place to share ideas with like minded fans and improve my writing skills, as well as spinning an awesome tale for people who want to read it. I did write a story that follows the movie, much more teenager centric that Deter's epic style (which I love love love), but aside from that story (which, not to brag, but happens to be the most reviewed M rated story in the fandom and third most reviewed story of any rating. Not bragging, just feeling the need to defend my worth as a writer in my own right, separate from Determamfidd's greatness.) this is a modern AU, which obviously doesn't follow the movie, but instead toys with depositing the characters into a modern setting and facilitating the same scale of emotional and mental maturation that we do see in the movie. It's a writing experiment for me, and I hope that it continues to be interesting for you as a story that I proudly do not enter in any sort of competition because it holds water on its own. Please don't let this come off as bitchy, I just felt that I needed to defend my worth, defend my adoration for Determamfidd's ideas as enjoyable interpretations of this glorious movie, and…I don't have a third item, but I really adore parallel phrasing. This is long, sorry.**

**Thanks guys, and I'll do my best to be on time…but I am graduating in a couple of weeks so…no promises. **

**Love you all though. **


	8. Chapter 8

**It's late again, but I had a crazy busy week, sorry guys!**

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The first thing that Astrid recognizes when she wakes up is pain. Her nose feels like a huge numb headache on her face and her scalp feels a size too small, the swollen knob on the side of her head throbbing in time to her heartbeat. She groans, shifting while trying to remember where she is or when she fell asleep, and a needle pulls rudely at the tender skin of her elbows. Suddenly her awareness floods her at the same time as a rapidly accelerating beeping makes her brain pulse angrily inside of her damaged skull.

Hospital. She must be in the hospital. She doesn't exactly remember getting there – or here – or how…

Hiccup.

It comes back in a flood that makes her groan as her brain protests the flow of information, again pressing dramatically at the inside of her skull. She met…she met Hiccup…and cried…and then he said she isn't a bitch and took her to the hospital...Right?

Everything about last night is uncomfortably foggy, but she's here now…and there's no reason that she shouldn't catch up on her sleep before she is forced to wake up and face the medical bills. She shifts to get comfortable, rolling away from the tender side of her head, but there's something that she hadn't noticed before weighing her down. A warm solid thing on her stomach.

She reaches down to shove it off of her and…it's soft. It feels like the teddy bear she had as a girl, the one that is most definitely not hidden in her pillowcase. Did someone bring it? Or something equally impossible?

No one knows about it and it's too firm anyway. Mr. Fuzzykins is floppy…

But who cares? The thing she's holding now is equally comforting. She threads her fingers through the silky strands that are inexplicably warm, smiling softly to herself. Oh yes, that feels nice, so soft. Her hands wrap more fully around it, because it's heavy and she wants to rub her cheek against it, and her fingers brush against a different texture…smooth and a little waxy maybe…That's an ear!

"Get off!" She shouts, pushing and hitting the mysterious person who thinks that it's okay to use her as a pillow. The beeping picks up again, blaring out of control as Astrid writhes into a sitting position, anxious fingernails tearing at the tape holding that blasted needle in her arm.

The lights flick on and she squints at the assailant, but her eyes immediately lock onto an all too familiar tube of bright green plaster. God, that cast is haunting her hospitalized nightmares now—But wait…

It's attached.

She lets her still bleary and burning eyes follow the skinny arm to the bunched up gray hoodie sleeve past the skinny shoulder and neck to…to…

Those eyes.

Erm. No.

To _Hiccup's_ face.

He looks like death, black bruise-like circles ringing tired eyes, and his pose is loosely electrified, his fingers still on the light switch. Astrid scowls at him and he glances over at her with an almost excited gleam in his eye before blushing and focusing too intently on the wall above her right shoulder.

"Why were you on top of me?" She says loudly and firmly, over her shrieking streak, but nothing short of completely enraged. He was _on _her. Blech…All nerdy and skinny and cute—What? No. No, she did not just apply _that_ word to Hiccup. Didn't happen. "God! Haven't you ever heard of personal space?" She takes a deep breath and tugs the IV out of her arm and presses her opposite thumb to the little hole, applying pressure to slow the bleeding. "Pressing your freakishly soft hair all over me," she groans, finally down to a normal speaking volume, all this yelling is making her ears pound.

"Did you just say my _hair_ is _soft_?" Hiccup sputters, his eyes blinking rapidly at the absurdity of the statement. Astrid's mouth slaps shut with an audible wet thump and she looks at him wide eyed before answering slowly.

"Nooooo…" The word is too drawn out, lasting long enough to fill the space, reverberate off of the walls and echo denial throughout the tragically average hospital room. "I was just…Did you fall and hit your head or something? You sound crazy." She takes her thumb off of the bleeding hole in her elbow, licking the dot of crimson off before looking back up at him, unfaltering. "We're already in the hospital, you should go get that looked at." There. That's a challenge. How dare he…accuse her of saying _that_? Does he even know who she is?

Her eyes lock on the cast again.

Yes. Yes he knows.

"Actually," He sits back down in the cushiony plastic chair next to the side of her bed and Astrid chooses to ignore the fact that he would have had to move the chair to be that close to her. "You're the one who _fell_."

There's that sarcastic intonation on 'fell' and Astrid gulps, narrowing her eyes at him. What does he assume? What does he think?

Who is he going to _tell_?

"I don't fall." She snaps tritely, crossing her arms and leaning back into the soft and pathetic hospital pillows that cave under her and leave her laying down when she was going for more of a dominant lounge.

"How did you hurt your head then?" The silence is caustic.

Part of her just wants to blurt it out…but that's how she feels every time someone asks about her bruises. She could tell…she could tell someone, call the cops, get him taken away…but then she'd be thrown into foster care. Who knows if she'd be able to go to the same school, if she'd be able to finish out her track career and cement her scholarship for the next year. It's just not worth it…

Plus, she can take care of herself! It's not even like it's a daily occurrence…it just happens sometimes, when she pisses him off. It's not really all that bad…

Right?

Of course not. Not bad at all.

"None of your business." Astrid knows that she took way too long to answer, and she can feel the end of her too long bangs tickling her eyebrow, but she refuses to brush them back and show weakness. She's in control here! She does not fall to a tickle.

"Oh, so I can come and get you in the middle of the night and take you to the hospital but the reasons remain completely mysterious?" He doesn't look scared. Is she really so out of whack that she's not scaring him? Her nose is probably awful.

"Do you really not think that I'm a bitch?" She blurts, feeling blood that she doesn't have to spare rush into her cheeks and make her feet go a little prickly. Hiccup doesn't seem too rushed to answer and shrugs, scratching his arm under the lip of his cast and looking everywhere but at her.

"I think…I think that you…Are you going to punch me for this?" He asks, his eyes finally zeroing in and locking on hers. Before she knows what she's doing, she's shaking her head 'no' at him, and her skull feels about 10 pounds too heavy. "I think that you could be…sweet…" He flinches like he's about to be slapped and she rolls her eyes, swinging her legs slowly over the side of the bed.

"Shows what you know," she gripes weakly, leaning forward so that her bangs fall forward over her eyes. They're doing that stupid itchy thing again, and she knows that her head is clear so it obviously doesn't have anything to do with the concussion.

It takes an embarrassingly long time to get up and hobble to the bathroom, especially because she ends up having to walk backwards as the back of her hospital gown keeps falling open. Stupid hospital gown designers, they never thought about this particular situation, did they?

In the bathroom, she stares deeply into her reflection, squinting as much as she can and analyzing the purple lump about halfway down the bridge of her nose. Once the swelling goes down that shouldn't be that bad at all…She sighs in relief. She's still pretty. She can still be the prettiest one, her status is intact.

Although, maybe it's good that she stays out of the public eye for the next two days…the black circles under her eyes aren't particularly appealing…

As soon as she thinks the phrase 'out of the public eye,' her thoughts immediately flick to Hiccup. If…God, this plan is ridiculous and crazy…if she's with _Hiccup_ she surely wouldn't be seen by anyone important…she'd have to look at that cast all day…but—

"Hiccup. Take me back to your house." She bursts out of the room, flinging the door open and putting her hands on her hips. Hiccup is back in the chair, facing the empty bed, head drooping as he snoozes, but he jerks awake, his eyebrows flying up his forehead momentarily as he first recognizes that she's still in that _flighty_ hospital gown.

Not that he'd ever brag about it or anything, but he swears that he saw a little golden freckle on the small of her back…

Is it normal that his mouth is watering just a little bit?—

Well, a lot a bit, but maybe he's thinking about…ice cream. Yeah, he's definitely thinking about ice cream…vanilla ice cream, pale and golden and creamy looking…

What she actually said to him finally sinks in and he twitches slightly. Astrid Hofferson? At his house?

"What? Don't you want a ride home or something? It's not a problem—"

"No, take me to your house. I—" Is there an excuse she can pluck from the top of her head? Can anything explain her suddenly wanting to hang out with cast-boy? "Let's work on the mythology project. It's a shitty day," the golden sun is streaming in through the window, glancing off of the red tones in Hiccup's hair and creating interesting, nearly geometric patterns on the wall. "We might as well get some of it done. It's worth half our grade!" She insists emphatically and Hiccup holds his hands up in surrender.

"Alright. You…you might want to get dressed first…" he suggests, blushing and meek and Astrid narrows her eyes at him in embarrassed anger. She's in front of him in just a hospital gown…and somehow it makes her…less than comfortable. Weakness. Disgusting.

"Get out then!" He scurries to the door and she scowls at his back.

00000

Astrid hates that her shirt is covered in blood, scarlet and crunchy against the soft white cotton. She hates the grimy feel of her sweatpants, like they've been tainted from sitting on the cheap vinyl chair all night. Mostly, she hates the way that Hiccup looks at her, a little shy, with too frequent glances at the blood on her shirt.

This is probably how he feels, what with her constantly glancing at his cast—

Whoa. That's even more uncalled for than her thinking that he's kind of _cute_ in a gangly, awkward way. She's caring about his emotions now? Not okay.

Actually it's probably one of the most okay thoughts she's had in…a couple of years…but still. She shouldn't care about his _feelings_.

She shouldn't even really have feelings. Life is easy without feelings.

Easy but…_shallow_.

Something else she is just starting to think about. When her life is centered around appearances, she can't trust anyone. She didn't have anyone to call last night…except Hiccup…and the only reason that she figured she could trust him is that…he's not _pretty_. She…the whole reason that she's here, and not in a coma in some ditch somewhere is because he's a decent human being…

So even now, why is she thinking about his appearance? His gangly scrawniness, his huge green eyes…shouldn't she have realized not to notice that by now?

Why is she focusing so much on morality anyway?

This whole situation…

Completely unheard of. Unheard of and confusing…and she wishes that she could just go and see Scott and _forget_ for a while. But—Is it weird that she's almost mad at him? This anger that she usually directs at those who are different, those who are _less_, is really making her want to throttle Scott.

For not being there last night, for never being there, for bugging out and leaving her with her father, for—

God, now she's thinking like some needy little girl, who wants her boyfriend there to hold her hand through everything. She can take care of herself! She can handle everything by herself. She doesn't need anyone.

But last night—

No! She didn't need to call Hiccup, she just wanted to—

What? What are these insane thought floating through her head right now? She did not want to call Hiccup. She broke his arm. She hates his cast! She hates _him_.

Except she really doesn't…she hates what he represents. The other half. The people she ignores. The people she's beaten up and abused her entire life—Maybe…maybe they aren't all the pathetic that she's always assumed…

He said she could be _sweet_. He said that she isn't a bitch—

Is she really so desperately craving compliments that she's allowing herself to think like this?

But that's impossible. She gets compliments all of the time. Everyone thinks—No, everyone _knows _that she's hot. Everyone gossips and whispers about it all of the time. She's the one that everyone wants or wants to be.

Is it wrong that she likes how Hiccup doesn't seem to notice all of that? He doesn't hit on her, he barely even looks at her, his eyes are always fixed on the wall behind her, the grass by her toes.

Maybe…maybe she needs someone away from all of the popularity. Someone who will give it to her straight, no matter how pretty she is. Someone who tells her that she's really acting like a bitch even when they think that it's going to piss her off.

They've been in Hiccup's car for what feels like hours, and her eyes have been locked on the tragically constant barrage of suburban houses and intermittent patches of wild brown fields, but she lets herself look at him, squinting a little to get her eyes used to the comparative darkness of the inside of the car.

"Friends?" She asks bluntly, presenting him with an outstretched hand. It feels like a weird thing to shake on…but what does one do with a friend? Astrid's never actually had a friend…which is completely odd to think about, she's always been so popular. But it's never really been about _her_. Everything has always been about what she looks like, what she can do athletically.

She's starting to wonder if she's got anything else. Is there any personality lurking beneath the crudely aggressive exterior?

Hiccup's eyes are as wide as dinner plates and he creeps a little uncomfortably close to the double yellow line in the middle of the road before shrugging and fluttering his eyes and drawing the car back to the center of the line. He's completely tense as he glances at her over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You do know that friends don't generally _break_ each other, right?" Cheeky even now. She doesn't feel like hitting him though…somehow. She wants to be his friend…but is it normal for her not to hit him? No. She can't become a completely different person just because they're _friends_ now…

She punches the upper part of his undamaged arm exceedingly gently but her eyes pop open wider when he flinches.

This is weird. She doesn't want it to hurt him…

"I know. That was before we were friends." She looks pointedly at his cast and shivers slightly. It still…disturbs her.

"So we're just friends now…just like that…without my consent?" He asks, looking at her more defiantly now…and there's this joking tinge to his voice that she's never quite appreciated as humorous before.

"It's either friends or…" She cracks her knuckles menacingly and he gulps.

"Friends then."

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"You never told me you were rich!" Astrid gripes, punching Hiccup's bicep again as they drive up his quarter mile private driveway, to the huge and inexplicably majestic looking house on top of a domineering hill.

"Ouch!" He rubs his arm. He can tell that there's no malice behind these new punches, but she really doesn't know her own strength. "And you never asked…actually you never talked to me long enough to ask."

"So? You still could have told someone—"

"I don't want anyone to know, alright? Then they'd just talk to me to get free stuff or something." He interrupts, immediately fearing the consequences of his outburst, but pushing that fear aside. They're _friends _now.

Dear god. He's friends with Astrid Hofferson…

Is this a dream?

No. His arm is throbbing this can't be a dream…

Astrid doesn't answer and Hiccup pulls into the garage, thankful once again that his dad is out of town. He'd never live this down. Bringing home an incredibly hot girl with blood all over her shirt and a broken nose…

He should probably offer her a shirt or something. It's rude to make his _friend_ walk around all bloody.

And she'd wear his clothes…she would be inside of his clothes. They might smell like her later…

No! _Friends_ don't think like that.

It must be that he's preoccupied, what with Astrid following him into his house and everything, but he doesn't even really register Toothless dashing into the garage through the open door and wagging vigorously, all the while panting and showing all of those pointed white teeth.

"What the fuck is that?" Astrid shrieks, turning promptly on her heel and taking off running. Toothless looks at Hiccup, confused as to why someone is screaming, before trotting after her concerned.

Hiccup swears under his breath and sprints outside to where Astrid is in the middle of his front yard on her butt with Toothless looming over her in a way that would threaten any intelligent person.

Astrid is going to tell his dad…

He makes himself run faster, even though his lungs are burning from the short distance, and he arrives at Astrid's side just in time to see Toothless drop something on her lap.

A small fuzzy and squeaky toy shaped like a fish. Astrid looks at the drool soaked toy on her chest, then at Hiccup, sneering in a way that's obviously meant to cover her terror.

"Astrid? It's okay. You've got to trust me." He takes a break from talking to fumble his inhaler from his pocket and take a puff. "He won't hurt you."

"Who is _he_?" She shrieks, and Toothless cocks his head at the loud sound, leaning down to nudge the toy on her stomach. Astrid pales and shivers visibly, and Hiccup steps forward as slowly and calmly as he can.

"Throw his toy." Hiccup commands in the same low even voice he uses with any scared and cornered animal and Astrid looks at him like he's grown a second head. "Toothless wants to play." God, that sounds like a line from some awful slasher movie.

"He has teeth, idiot!" She shouts, scrambling back, but whining and stilling when Toothless follows.

"Trust me." Hiccup orders, his hands held out in front of him, trying to communicate for her to calm down. He knows that the wolf isn't going to do anything, but getting excited around animals never helps.

Astrid looks up, making defiant eye-contact as she picks up the fish, grimacing slightly at its slimy texture and throwing it to her right. It squeaks anticlimactically as it lands in a raised hillock and Toothless chases after it, pouncing comically onto it and squishing it with his one massive front paw.

Astrid looks up at Hiccup, shocked and delighted, her nose throbbing angrily at her smile.

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**Holy heck guys, 42 reviews for the last chapter? You guys are completely amazing! **

**I love you all.**

**Thanks so much to: Hicc (for proofing it and helping me and being awesome and all of the other stuff you do!), 4ever2010, Shayna7767, Annabeth The Unicorn, JeMS7, Negra, Voldyne, OmarBarria, Paosheep, BitterBiscuits, MaxJacksonCullengirl, ClassicCartoon27, Nidan117, Fiwen9430, Leon Woon, Funk-tastic, Animal Charmer 11, Gentrie, RockstarVikingAngel, Mythlor, xv323, A Lovely Treason, FuzzyLogic11, Lord Anubis Judge of the Dead, Romance and Musicals, ketbelle, Starryflower, ZemyxDexion, Chaela-laughluuurver, Onhiro, TemariTheWolf, Aquaburst, hopelessromantic121, lovelyMESS**

**That is a freaking long list of names! **

**Anonymous folks:**

**Hey Man: Glad chapter 7 was awesome for you. This one isn't quite as pivotal…but they can't all be that pivotal. And as for Scott…he's not so much a villain here s an idiotic placeholder type. But he's not going to be Hiccup's biggest fan, necessarily**

**Srpiaeahn: I'm so glad that you like my writing style and that this story remains believable! Keep reading!**

**Horace: Sadly, that's not how it goes. Especially for someone like Astrid, she's not going to go running to the cops when she feels so strongly that she can take care of herself. **

**Adam: There is an inkling of affection between those two, isn't there? Too bad Astrid is way too cool for her pants and dating the dumbface that is Scott Nout…But we'll see…**

**Ordgar: They are finally getting there, aren't they?**

**Cat-in-the-hat: yeah, I kind of had to drag her through the dirt to make her better. But they're friendship is on the road…they're finally getting there. I'm back until I get a job…then this might get inconsistent again…**

**love how to train your dragon: So glad that you like the chapter! Keep reading!**

**Pinnacle: I'm glad that you like my unique writing style, and that it doesn't annoy you or anything, that's always good to hear. And I'm so happy that you like my dialogue, that's so hard for me to write, I always feel like they sound stupid…And that you find it believable how Astrid is stuck in her awful position and grudgingly accepting of it.**

**That's all folks!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry this is late…again. I've been having issues with the whole writing thing. But don't worry, I could never abandon this unfinished. **

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Hiccup's house is…richly decorated to say the least. Not that Astrid would ever be nervous, but she isn't too eager to wear her slightly scummy flip flops on the luxurious Persian rugs draped over every available varnished plain of hard wood floors. She's almost apprehensive to sit on that nearly gleaming cushion covered in buttery brown leather that deigns to call itself a sofa. She can't help but stare into the massive bonfire that springs to life inside of the grand rustic hearth at the flick of a switch when she asks, and the extravagance of it all has her feeling a little dizzy.

But then again, that could be the situation in general. She's here…in Hiccup's house. Hiccup Haddock. The very same Hiccup Haddock whose arm she broke for absolutely no reason…

The Hiccup _Haddock_ who has a last name that she hasn't taken three seconds to ask about before.

The whole idea of this position in life is a little crazy.

Honestly, she's feeling a little crazy.

Not insane, like she's about to run into the nearest bank and pull out an axe or some equally politically incorrect medieval weapon or anything, just a little…out of her element.

Astrid Hofferson is supremely totally out of her element.

It's not like this hasn't happened before, of course she's felt this rush of insignificance that comes with high-ceilinged ballrooms and grandeur china that's worth more than her house, but it's a situation that she's never truly had to make face with until now. Before now, she's inhabited one of two personas, there's the pretty Astrid, who everyone admires, and the violent terrifying Astrid, who everyone runs away from. Normally whenever she's been somewhere bigger and more adorned than herself, she's been wearing a pretty dress that shows a little too much skin and draws everyone's eyes to her. But here?

Here she's wearing a blood-stained tee-shirt, with a huge and hideous aubergine knot in the middle of her face and her hands are positively coated in _wolf_ drool of all things, because Toothless refuses to stop his game of fetch with that disgustingly drenched fish toy.

Plus, Hiccup doesn't even look at her in _that _way. Sure, he blushes when she looks over, but he always looks a little afraid, like he's sure she's milliseconds away from turning into a flaming draconic nightmare, and then she can't help but lock her eyes onto something – anything – else as quickly as possible. For some reason she can't comprehend, she doesn't like him being afraid of her. It makes her…antsy.

He's already done so much for her, and for no reason at all what-so-ever. It's starting to make her think dangerous things. Dangerous and exciting things that should make her thrilled beyond belief, but instead they just make her nervous. _Nervous_! She's never been explicitly nervous before in her life!

But she can't think of any other term to describe the way she's feeling right now…

It seems…It seems she's actually facing someone who is a real, honest to God _good person_.

What is she supposed to do with that? He's an actual nice person? Do those even exist anymore?

Of course they do. The gangly little jackass sitting on the chair across the too big living room proves it…thereby disproving her entire life-view and philosophy. Hiccup came and got her in the middle of the night for absolutely no reason but his own over-developed morality. He really seems to care about the face value of right and wrong…and she doesn't know what to do with that.

He's…completely unfamiliar. And she hates it, hates the change, hates the way that she can't seem to force herself to adapt…hates the way that she can't seem to help but want to be nice to him.

They're friends! She hasn't called anyone 'friend' since first grade when friends were more like minions anyway. Everything about friends has always seemed overrated…stupid…so cliché that she's never felt the yearning to have one. But something about Hiccup's…uniqueness draws her to him in a powerful way that's completely, totally, incomprehensibly terrifying. It's like the crack of lightning in that no matter how dangerous she knows it is – and she knows that attachment is hideously ominous – she can't make herself stay away. She wants to be in the thick of the storm, drenched and trembling and alive.

Uniqueness. Something she's always detested and avoided with all of the fervor she could muster. The only way she's ever wanted to be unique is winning. The winner is unique because they're better, more perfect, more the same than everyone else. No one can _exclude_ a winner…

Wait, wait, wait. Since when does she care about being excluded? She doesn't need any of those cronies, doesn't need acceptance! She's Astrid Hofferson and—

Her face flushes dramatically at the realization.

And no matter how confident in herself she tries to appear…her entire façade was held up by the knowledge that everyone liked and accepted her. She disproved this last night, when no one would come, but the scrawny little nerd that she beat up for no—

"Astrid?" Hiccup's unusually meek voice reverberates through the hazy fog of her too thick thoughts. Too thick, too heavy, too deep.

Shallowness is easy.

"What?" She snaps, nearly falling off of the couch because she's perched so close to the edge of it for fear of marring the flawless leather. Something sopping wet and lukewarm pushes against her hand and she looks down into Toothless's concerned and disappointed face before scowling over at Hiccup.

"You've been staring into space for…" he checks his watch, "about five minutes. Are you sure you're head is okay? We could go back to the hospital or something…" He's got his laptop on his thighs, a shiny sleek thing that looks like something she'd see in a science fiction movie set in 2300. The light from the screen oddly illuminates his features, and she has to look at him a little too long to distinguish his eyes from the accentuated dark circles set beneath them.

It's too dark in the big room, with the curtains drawn and the blinds closed, but the harsh light hurt her eyes. The dark is comforting, and she wishes she had Mr. Fuzzykins so that she could curl up and take a nap.

While she's wishing for things, she puts in a silent bid for some clean clothes and a different father.

"My head is fine, the doctor said I'm fine." She snaps, gritting her teeth and sliding back onto the perfect couch, cradling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them. She feels small and vulnerable, but the couch feels like a hug and she can't help but relax into it, sighing too loudly.

"You're sure? Because—"

"I said I'm fine." She interrupts, considerably less hostile now that she's so utterly comfortable. "The doctor said I'll be fine." Her voice is a little quieter, a little more reasonable and Hiccup stops worrying so much about the health of her gray matter.

She needs all the gray matter she has left after taking a hit like _that_. He really can't keep his eyes away from the swelling on her nose, the dark bruises rimming her eyes. Astrid Hofferson shouldn't look like that. She's always been the one climbing the mound of bodies, always landing on top, but here, curled up in the fetal position with red eyes and a broken nose…she just looks small. Small and skinny and tired...and to be honest, it's bringing out odd protective instincts that he shouldn't be feeling for her of all people.

But then again, it's been thoroughly established by the events of the last 24 hours that he really doesn't act rationally around Astrid.

Mostly though, he's trying to figure out some way to broach the topic of how exactly she got hurt…or more specifically who hit her. It's not like he can do anything, and it's not like his pet wolf has enough instinct left in him to attack on command…but maybe knowing will make him feel better.

Not that he doesn't already know. It was Scott. It's obvious to anyone with half a brain, the guy is a thug, a dense thug who's never cherished Astrid like he should. It's a point he feels like he's made to Fishlegs a million times, but there's so much more to Astrid, he can just see it, lurking below her flawless exterior.

She's smart and terrifying and competitive and domineering…probably dominant…Gah! He shouldn't be thinking about her like that! She broke his arm! Snapped it!

He should care, but he doesn't. His arm doesn't really hurt anymore, and it's not like he had any pride or an ego for her to wound, so he's over it at this point. He can't wait to get his cast removed so that this whole…adventure is in the past.

Then again. They're _friends_ now.

He's friends with Astrid Hofferson.

The incomprehensibility of that statement is so large that his TI-84 Plus Silver would say it's an overload if he tried to enter it as an equation…and that thing can calculate up to 10 to the 100th power...

So basically, if there were units for confusion…he'd have to get a new calculator.

Just the fact that she's in his living room is making him a complete idiot.

Nothing about Astrid Hofferson is like a calculator. He shouldn't even think about his calculator in her presence…no matter how much he improved his high score on dino-puzzle.

After tugging his mind in painful circles for the duration of an awkward silence that lasts far too long, he decides to bite the bullet for once in his life and just ask the damn question…in as roundabout a way as possible.

"So…have you ever been punched?" That couldn't have come out any worse.

Astrid's eyes shoot open so widely that it almost hurts and she curls in on herself further reflexively. He knows. How does he know?

Did she tell him last night?

Why is he asking?

Who…who…

"Who have you told?" She blurts ferociously, her hands curling into fists as she sees her entire life go up in smoke. Foster care. Changing Schools. Not running in the State cross-country meet. Losing her Scholarship.

Hiccup glances down at his own fisted hands, pressing into his laptop keyboard and typing a perpetual chain of p's so glaring and monotonous that it makes his eyes hurt and his head pound like a thundercloud pulsing with the charge of the oncoming storm.

He wishes he had a storm to back up his anger with. He wishes he were huge and muscular and could go make Scott Nout with he'd never been born. He wishes he didn't care so damn much.

While he's wishing, he goes ahead and requests some social skills and maybe a magic medallion that would give him a chiseled jaw and athletic talent.

"No one." He's surprise by how angry he sounds.

"How did you know?" Astrid has never felt so frantic in her entire life. She's never been caught in a lie like this, at least not to her face, and on top of everything she can't see a way to smoothly navigate through to calmer waters.

"You look like a boxer who came out on the losing end of a heavyweight championship," Hiccup quips, looking at the bump on her nose. It's really not that bad, she's still beautiful, but he hates that it's an injury. He hates that Astrid Hofferson can't be untouchable.

Her hands fly to cover her nose and he immediately feels guilt swelling in his chest. Normal people don't respond well to his sarcasm, he just can't seem to turn it off when he needs to be sociable.

"You told me it wasn't that bad!" She yells, nasally and panicked around her fingers and Hiccup flinches, the steady stream of p's halting as his hand twitches instead to 'o' and switches up the uniformity.

"It's not…it's really not! Don't worry about it, without the bloody shirt it wouldn't even be noticeable." Astrid glimpses down at the gore on her collar and frowns before cautiously sliding her fingers away from her tender nose with a frown.

"Don't tell anyone. I'll lose everything if you tell anyone," she commands glumly, hating that she has to display her vulnerability like this.

Hiccup suddenly sees something else. He sees a beaten and over-fought pit-bull, head hung as it plods back over to the master who mistreats it. The master who showed up at the shelter with a Polaroid and a collar, claiming to be elated to be bringing the family pet – the family pet with filed teeth – home.

He shuts the laptop and the latch click is too loud in the quiet dark, startling Astrid into looking at him, simultaneously confused and uncomfortably alarmed. He's going to do something unexpected again…isn't he?

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"Now that one…that one is definitely going to bite my hand off." Astrid shrinks into the corner, the rickety stool tapping nervously against the tepid concrete. She'd started out this whole process trying to be brave, but after the third hulking Rottweiler, she'd curled up, hugging her knees and leaning back against the wall. The concrete at her back is inexplicably and uncomfortably warm and doesn't do anything to soothe her, instead making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up like she's being stared down by some predator…

Like the massive pit-bull panting at Hiccup's heels.

"No, Astrid, Spike's a nice girl. She's not going to do anything, see?" Hiccup kneels down and lets the dog lick his face before holding his arm out to her. The blue-gray dog runs her tongue over the skinny appendage before glancing over at Astrid with squinting nearly-smiling eyes.

"You're crazy, letting that thing get near your face." She snaps at him a little too loudly and the heckles on the pit's spine ripple slightly. Hiccup shoots her a look, looking impressively solid, the same even expression that had convinced her to throw the damn fish toy for his freaky pet wolf.

"Shh, don't sound so angry."

"I don't sound angry!" Spike growls, lying down and trying to shrink into the floor.

"Astrid." Hiccup says sternly, his voice louder but still calm and magnetic. "Take my hand." He holds his hand out to her and she curls both of hers into fists.

"No, no, no, no, no!" She shuts her eyes shaking her head vehemently. "I'm not touching that thing!" The dog growls louder, scooting away from Astrid on her stomach, her lips pulling away from startlingly sharp and white teeth.

"Good to know I've been reduced to 'that thing,' hearing stuff like that is great for the self-esteem," Hiccup drawls sarcastically, a little too brave as he steps forward, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. Astrid slaps his arm, not noticing until too late that her fingers are aimed directly for that plaster abomination.

She freezes, curling her fingers slowly back into a tight fist and pointedly looking anywhere but his eyes. "Stop joking. I'm talking about the man-eating pit-bull."

"Trust me." Astrid doesn't answer, just curls up more tightly and Hiccup rolls his eyes, smirking at her. He feels so in his element here, and somehow being in the one situation where he actually does have some measure of control helps to eliminate the shocking and crippling fear and admiration normally associated with dealing with the girl who he's currently _touching_.

Oh God, he's touching her.

Never mind.

"No, you're crazy." Astrid sneers, a shiver running through her as her bare arms come into contact with that bizarrely clammy concrete.

"I never thought that Astrid Hofferson would be scared of a sweet little puppy." He shrugs, adjusting his hand around her wrist and trying to ignore the silky slip of her skin against his palm.

"That's not a sweet little—Wait. You think I am _afraid_?" Astrid pushes herself to her feet, butting her shoulder against his aggressively and nearly shoving him over. "I am not afraid!" He smiles at her, avoiding looking at the rusty stain on her chest.

"Ok then," Astrid shakes his wrist off, shuffling across the room, looking away from the dog on the floor and skittering towards it in a shallow arc. Spike growls low in her chest and Astrid looks to Hiccup, defiantly terrified.

She bends down, unable to stop herself from whimpering as the dog tenses visibly, those vicious teeth peeking out. Hiccup pushes her forward with gentle shooing hands and Astrid grimaces at him, reaching out with all the confidence she can muster and placing her hand all too gently against the big dog's forehead.

"Hey…she's not attacking me…" Astrid cautiously strokes the big boxy head, and Spikes eyes flutter shut when her ears are gently rubbed.

"I told you she wouldn't." Hiccup gloats and Astrid glares at him.

"Shut up."

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If Hiccup didn't know better, he'd say that there's been some sort of transformation. Less than half an hour later Astrid has Spike on her back and is rubbing her stomach while cooing completely ridiculous things and making stupid faces.

"…who's my belly-girl? That's my cute little puppy-" Astrid presses her lips to the dog's sleek stomach blowing a raspberry while Spike squirms gleefully, her pink tongue lolling sideways as she shuts her eyes. Hiccup can't help but snicker a little at the rather ridiculous sight and Astrid glares up at him. "What? You were right. She's amazing." The dog twitches as a lithe alabaster hand scratches up her bluish shiny side.

"Belly girl?" He laughs a little louder. "The mighty Astrid Hofferson…"

"Good thing you're my _friend_." The word still sounds foreign and too…long. Almost like there's an unspoken syllable lingering in the middle, between the two vowels, full of lightning and electricity and room for failure. "Otherwise…" Astrid runs a finger across Spike's neck in a traditionally threatening motion, before gasping theatrically and leaning down to growl playfully against the dog's throat, making her squirm and wiggle.

"She likes you." Hiccup drags a stool over from the row along the wall to the middle of the room, perching on it and nudging his left foot against Spike's muscular side.

"Everyone likes me." Astrid answers simply, sitting up and rolling the dog over to casually scratch and rub behind her ears. The room sobers slightly…because as of last night, she knows that it's not true. It's a big charged lie that she only hopes Hiccup isn't brave enough to point out.

"Everyone?" The question hangs in the air like neutron matter, and Hiccup can feel every fiber of his being stretching towards and away from her at the same time, tearing him apart. He still wants to hate her, for breaking his arm…for showing up out of the blue and expecting him to cart her around like some sort of midnight emergency chauffer, but she's his _friend_.

And there's something about the fierce determination that he can see in her every day at Cross Country practice, the assured self-confidence that has kept her right on his academic heels these last four years makes him want to know her.

He's about to rephrase it when the metal door slams open with a startlingly brutal clang, blowing an uncomfortably warm breeze over the three of them. A sharp yelp escapes Hiccup's mouth and he instantly turns bright red, but the flush turns into a violent blanche when he recognizes who is at the door.

It's the hulking dog-fighter from the week before. He's not with Gobber this time, and is wearing just a vest over his flamboyantly puce shirt. If Hiccup couldn't see the metallic bulge above his belt, he wouldn't be able to restrain some wildly sarcastic comment about homosexuality.

Spike growls, scuttling backwards under Astrid's arm.

"Boy, I'm here for a new dog…the last one _ran away_. Do you even train these mutts?" What a way to make an entrance…The man makes a move to pull what looks like an antique watch on a ritzy gold chain out of his vest pocket, but his eyes stop on Astrid. "Looks like you've been training your little girlfriend."

Hiccup's heart soars at the suggestion of staking some claim over Astrid before diving straight into the depths of his stomach. He throws up a little bit in his mouth…hit someone? Hit Astrid?

Astrid on the other hand feels nothing but rage awaken at the insinuation. Does she not look tougher than her scrawny friend? She could kick his asthmatic ass!

"I don't think you know how to handle a dog." She claims boldly, standing up and clenching her fists, hands on her hips. It's hard not to falter when she sees just how much bigger than her this mysterious asshole is, but she holds strong. How dare he assume that _Hiccup_ could take her out.

"It speaks." The man looks at the back of his hand and strides too boldly around Hiccup's stool. "This pit, how old?"

Astrid shakes her head vehemently, even though this prick is still refusing to look at her. He's not getting Spike! Spike…Spike is…

"She's mine. This is my dog." Hiccup's eyes widen and he clears his throat, coming fully back to the situation, as he gapes at Astrid, who's curled on the ground, hugging the big dog possessively. Loyalty, something he'd never expected to find in Astrid Hofferson. "Go get yourself a Chihuahua or something."

The man's lips curl back, revealing slightly over-pronounced canines and Astrid's hands curl into fists. Hiccup's just trying to figure out how much force it would take to knock Astrid out before she says anything else stupid when the door slams open again, revealing an obviously enraged Gobber.

"Thar's nothin' te see here. Hiccup, Astrid take Spike outside, look at that absess on her foot." If he's shocked at all to see his star runner sitting in the basement of the animal shelter with her face crooked and blood stains on her shirt, he doesn't show it, and the two teens hop to their feet and scurry out of the room. Well…Hiccup scurries, Astrid stares murderously at the man who's easily twice her size, fists clenched as she sneers as much as her swollen nose will allow.

This is the longest Saturday in the history of the world.

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**53 reviews for one chapter!**

**I have nothing to say to that…just an appreciative slow clap. I can't believe that my story means so much to some of you. It's amazing. **

**Thanks to: Hicc (Sorry), Animal Charmer 11, MaxJacksonCullengirl, Shayna7767, mak0-ch1, 4ever2010, cgthebeast, The Incredible Puba, OmarBarria, Violet Masen-Clearwater, Romance and Musicals, ketbelle, AquaBurst, Voldyne, Hey Man, JeMS7, thor, Adam, Annabeth the Unicorn, Lord Anubis Judge of the Dead, Fiwen9430, hopelessromantic121, ClassicCartoon27, love how to train your dragon, ZemyxDexion, Leon Woon, Gentrie, TemariTheWolf, Chaela-laughluuurver, FuryOfTheNight, CrazyDyslexicNerd, , Mythlor, I.C.2014, Wrexie, Noseriously my name is Astrid, frangipani blossom, Mimpy, A.L.S., loren, Starryflower, Eiedolon, Me, Twin2, Cbarge, Captain H.M. Murdock, ShootMe002, Lyptic, Twin1, sora nii, Shigiya, auel abyss**

**Phew! Long list of names…and you guys are going to hate me for it…but I don't think I can respond to reviews anymore. I'm so swamped, and I love love love how many reviews I've been getting…but it's hours and hours that I could be spending on the actual fic. I hope that you'll understand! **


	10. Chapter 10

**So first, the response for this story continues to be completely fantastic, I love you all, and I'll try to get better about updating…I've just been busy, I have a brand new job, and a little inflammation in my lazy bone. **

**(Sorry about the italics guys, it's fixed!)  
**

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The late afternoon sun feels like a breakthrough into a different world and Hiccup can't help but exhale dramatically, as his hand absently scratches Spike's head. That guy is a terror, bringing a gun into the shelter, going searching behind 'employees only' doors for what he deems to be the best dogs.

It's one of those times when Hiccup wishes he were about 200 pounds beefier and had a metallic limb with some sort of awesome laser attachment or something.

Or maybe not.

Maybe he just wants a bigger gun than the other guy. He just wants to be in control of the situation, for once. He wants to come riding in on the big white horse…hell, maybe he wants the big black horse, mix up tradition a little. Maybe he wants to be the literal and figurative dark horse, ride up in the final stretch, dispatch the bad guy and swoop up the girl. Get a kick-ass battle scar and a heroic reputation.

Yeah right, no way is he going to get the girl.

Hiccup glances over at Astrid, thinking about how unless she's the girl he doesn't really want to win anyone with his masculine prowess, and she's glaring at him.

"What?—"

"Why didn't you tell me there's something wrong with her foot? What's an abscess? Why didn't you tell me she has an abscess?" Astrid whines, scowling and sounding so absurdly _matronly_ that Hiccup blushes. He should never think the word matronly when he's thinking about Astrid, and he mentally files the motherhood concept right next to his calculator in the Astrid Hofferson quadrant of his brain.

Hiccup glances back over his shoulder, assuring that the doors to the shelter are still closed and the too shiny pick up truck is still parked in the dirt lot before leaning over far too close to Astrid, as if that despicable man will hear him through layers of concrete and rock. Not that he minds being too close or anything…

Focus.

"There's nothing wrong with her…Gobber just didn't want that guy to take an interest." Astrid stops in her tracks, hand on a rebelliously popped hip as she stares Hiccup down like a stubborn suspect.

"I thought that you wanted to adopt these dogs out, isn't that what the shelter is about?" Astrid couldn't feel more hypocritical, spouting this holier than thou nonsense back at the noblest guy she's ever talked to.

Hiccup is torn, he needs to tell her, but knowing Astrid she'll try and involve herself…and she can't snap that guy like she snapped his arm. But…_friends_ are privy to this sort of secret stuff, right?

He wishes he had experience aside from Fishlegs in the friends department. Like, he couldn't exactly bring up some ethics of engineering discussion item from his Scientific American or anything, and he knows better than to share secrets with Legs, because it would end up filed with all the other facts and statistics that could pop up at literally any minute of the day.

And he really wants to share this with Astrid, not just to lure her into his pathetically lonely life with some juicy tidbit of gossip…but he wants to get it off of his chest. For so long, he's been keeping this…hobby, a secret from everyone. Sure, Gobber knows about him volunteering at the shelter, and that's probably what got him roped into the nightmare of sports management, but this whole Toothless nightmare is a heavy weight on his skinny shoulders.

And now…someone knows.

God it's terrifying and wonderful to not have his best friend be a secret anymore. To have someone know, to share the secret. And in an unfortunately amazing turn of events, Hiccup doesn't see how Astrid can be uninvolved now. She knows, she has to be included in it all, Toothless likes her…

He's so stuck. He doesn't want to tell her about the horrid reality of these dogs, because knowing her she'll go and attack someone and get herself killed, but at the same time he wants to continue…using her as some sort of secret absorber.

Why couldn't she have just fallen instantly in love with him like some charming kids movie or something? Why couldn't they suddenly have been an 'item' or whatever? Not only would that be completely amazing…he would be allowed to touch, possibly _kiss_ Astrid Hofferson—Hiccup shakes himself. That's movie stuff. And it doesn't really happen.

The media can preach and preach about the equality of all social cliques, but the biological imperative of searching for a suitable and societally advantageous mate is always going to dominate.

This means he gets to be alone, and wrestle with himself over whether it's intelligent to go ahead and clue Astrid in on the rest of his secrets.

"That guy hurts the dogs, he makes them fight."

Or he could just blurt out the big secret. That's good too.

"What?" Astrid's fists methodically clench and unclench, and years at the bottom of the food chain inspire Hiccup to run and hide in a corner…but he stops himself.

"That's where most of these big burly breeds come from. They're fighting dogs that somehow made it out alive. Guys like that come and get them and make them fight again."

"You mean…" She's seen those horrific photos on the news, or a spot on some episode of some CSI type show, but she'd never guessed… "Like actual dogfighting?" Hiccup nods timidly and Astrid explodes, making Spike drop onto her stomach. "That guy! _That _guy!" She whirls around, fists clenched, and starts storming back towards the animal shelter, looking like some down in the dumps ring fighter viciously looking for a comeback.

Before Hiccup even stops to think, he reaches out, grabbing her wrist like a safety manacle and tugs backwards, stopping her idiotic tirade. Her tendons are so sharply defined beneath the pale skin that they feel like burning rods pressing into his palm and he flinches back, because she's going to murder him…or neuter him…this is bad.

Astrid whirls around, other fist raised, but when she sees his scrunched up and terrified expression she deflates, looking down at her toes feeling…ashamed?

Is that shame?

That sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, just south of guilt and a little above the epicenter or anger? She feels…awful. She made him afraid, she scares him…

"Astrid? Maybe you shouldn't go assault him—I mean, not that you couldn't beat him up, I'm sure that you could, but he has a gun—"

"How—How can you just sit here? Let him do that to them? He's making innocent dogs do his dirty work like some sort of sick queen bee!" She cuts him off, hurriedly shaking his too calming grip from her wrist.

"What am I supposed to do? Just waltz up to my dad, tell him to get the government involved to save the puppies?" Hiccup proposes sarcastically, rubbing the hand that had touched her skin on his pants like he's putting out a fire.

"Why not?" Astrid screams back, quieting when she sees Spike's anguished expression. "You're connected, you're living right in the pocket of someone who could help. Everyone waits their entire lives to make a difference, and you have the chance, but you won't?"

Wait.

She's been waiting to make a difference? When did she care about changing anything but the top times on record boards?

She brushes the realization aside…it's too much to tackle guilt, shame, and a deeper yearning for community connection in the same twenty four hours.

"My dad…well, he doesn't exactly know that I work here. He does know, but he thinks it's only so that Gobber will let me manage for Cross Country, he doesn't understand that I actually _want _to…If he knows—I don't want him getting curious, okay? He'd figure out about Toothless, he's not an idiot, just unobservant!" Hiccup explains, flustered and cornered, and Astrid presses forward, belligerent as ever.

"You're letting this go on just to protect your pet wolf?"

"Yes." Something about the stony expression that suddenly slides into place on Hiccup's face makes Astrid pause. In that moment, he's no longer some weak little dweeb, he's…strong. With that level gaze and inexplicably assured single syllable makes her pause, deflating slightly.

Somehow, she feels like an idiot, what with the uneducated commands about something completely foreign to her. And looking at Hiccup, it's like she's found someone who could educate her…for the first time that she can remember, she wants to help him.

She shrugs one shoulder and it seems like surrender…but a positive surrender?

It's a vast understatement to say that she doesn't understand her emotions anymore.

"Ok."

"Ok?" What does ok mean? Ok, she's going to beat him up now? Ok, they aren't friends anymore? Or possibly the completely unlikely, ok, you have a secret life working with supposedly murderous animals?

It's probably the first one.

"Ok, I want to help. What can I do?" Hiccup freezes briefly, his brain completely stagnant.

"You…what?"

"I want to help." It sounds completely brilliant the second time she says it, and Astrid smiles broadly, despite the jolt of pain from the bridge of her nose. Hiccup goes a little slack jawed…it sounds completely inane, but he's never seen her smile before. And even with a broken nose and two blackened eyes, it's completely stunning.

He wants to make her smile.

"Umm…errm…yeah. Help…Help is good." He stutters out, turning some ungodly shade of crimson, because she's still doing that smiling thing that's completely otherworldly.

"So…what can I do?" She repeats, the grin slipping from her face, because Hiccup looks like he's seen some unknown mythical beast or something.

"Right, you need a task or something." He's been going this alone so long that it's hard to allocate. A thumping against his shoe starts to get annoying and he nudges Spike's tail away…"Spike!" The dog jumps to her feet and starts wagging furiously, prancing around Hiccup's ankles because he said her name and it's exciting and she knows her name is Spike, and this is all super cool—

"Calm down girl." Astrid reaches down and grabs the big dog's collar, tugging her boxy head around and stroking it fondly. "Yeah, what about her?"

"You could adopt her!" Just the thought of her father's face as she shows up at the front door, bruised and unapologetic with a pit-bull snarling at the end of a leash.

Yeah, that's just asking for trouble.

"I can't—" She blurts, stepping back away from the dog like she's dangerous. Quick, make up a lie that won't come back to bite later. "My mom—She's allergic." Right, because when the friend guy starts asking about the mother her mysterious absence won't be a problem at all.

"Oh…too bad, she likes you." Hiccup thinks for a minute, before Astrid's eyes on him start to feel a little too scalding and he shrugs off her gaze, slouching down and looking towards his car anxiously. "I'll think of something later, but right now, maybe I should get you home."

Astrid sighs, her nose throbbing involuntarily at the thought of going into that house full of meaningless, echoing apologies.

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It's funny how on Monday, school feels exactly the same. Astrid isn't even there for Mythology, and if Hiccup really thinks about it he's pretty sure that her absence has something to do with him…is she regretting the whole friends thing? He wouldn't blame her if she did, probably she spent all day Sunday with that abusive bastard Scott and is now completely contented in her popular status.

Probably that whole weekend was just some one time blissful session of servitude, one night and day to drive her around, and take her to the hospital, and pay for her hospital bills just to be chivalrous…she never even noticed the last thing. Then again, what can he really ask for, he got to spend a day with the girl of his dreams, got to introduce Toothless to someone.

Spike!

She really bonded with Spike…maybe she'll want to go to the shelter and see her again. It really is too bad that her mom is allergic, there were a few seconds there when he thought he'd sent another dog off to blissful suburbia.

He even sees her in the hallway after his second class of the day and unless he's going completely crazy, she glances over at him. She looks pretty again, in that conventional blonde way that Hiccup is starting to hate. It hides her natural Astrid-ness, he can't even see her freckles through the thick patch of makeup that he knows must be covering the bruise on her nose and under her eyes.

It really does feel like none of that ever happened, but his heart feels a little bit more like a leaden blob than normal, and he doesn't hate his cast quite as much somehow. He even catches himself touching it…just because that's where she touched…with violent hands, but still!

By lunchtime, he's already spent too much of his precious brainpower pining over something that's obviously never meant to be. Because he's him, all geeky and unattractive and sarcastic, and she's her…perfect…and like he said, she could even be kind of sweet.

Well, sweet in a violent, domineering kind of way.

Hiccup secretly thinks that this is the best way to be sweet.

He's sitting at that privately nerdy lunch table in the corner, messing with the crust of his peanut butter sandwich and thinking about Ast—nothing in particular, when Fishlegs walks up and sits down across from him. But as soon as Hiccup looks up, he notices that there's a problem, as the massive boy doesn't have his usual two laden lunch trays.

"No lunch today?" Hiccup asks jokingly, tearing his eyes away from the abysmally entertaining sandwich. "Careful, a few weeks of that and you'll look like me." He teases, flexing his lack of bicep mightily.

"Oh, my lunch…" Fishlegs pauses awkwardly, staring at his sausage like fingers in seemingly deep thought before he looks up at Hiccup. "My lunch is out there, in the lounge."

"But why would you're lunch be in the lounge? That's where Scott and Astrid and all of them sit—Ooh, this is a dangerous game, the social climbing nonsense." He instructs, waving a menacing finger at his friend as a gesture of warning.

Not like he spent half the weekend within arms' reach of one of those now shamed popular kids, throwing around dangerous words like friends and even more tantalizingly threatening concepts like future or reoccurrence.

"I had the best weekend ever!" Fishlegs proclaims dramatically, and Hiccup gives him a clinical glance.

"I disagree." He says simply and his friend scoffs.

"It was like +9 awesome. And…mmph+2makeoutmmph…" Hiccup's eyes widen until it appears they're about to pop out of his head and Fishlegs whistles idly, looking determined over his shoulder.

"+2 What?"

"I…I met someone." Fishlegs says with a too blasé shrug and after seconds under Hiccup's scrutinizing shade he promptly turns the color of a tomato near spontaneous combustion as he spouts a litany of semi-disturbing facts that seem half-truths. "I was at that party—"

"The party you didn't bring me to?—"

"Yes, now listen, before the crazy girl comes and hauls me out there." He expresses the inherent threat with a dreamlike smile that makes Hiccup equal parts jealous and queasy. "Tuff and I were drinking, and I was telling him that if he had anymore, his blood alcohol level would likely lead to explosive oral detoxification. And then he puked—"

"Dear god above, do not tell me that you held his hair and made a love connection!" Hiccup says overdramatically, throwing his arms in the air and attracting the attention of a couple of sophomores who would swear they've never seen that kid before in their lives.

"No! Let me tell the story!" Fishlegs explodes, his face swiveling abruptly from proud embarrassment to near angry pallor. Hiccup sits quietly, folding his hands in his lap as best as he can around the plaster of his cast. His hand itches more and he tries to scratch his palm as his thoughts float again to the ongoing pity party surrounding Astrid. "Ruff thought it was funny…and then she brought me a drink, and we got to talking…and then she climbed into my lap and kissed my face off!" He finishes in a slightly high pitched hysterical version of his normal voice and Hiccup's jaw goes a bit more slack than he'd like it to be. He wants to looks suave, mention his weekend, but…Fishlegs got kissed…by Ruff Thorston. The Ruff Thorston!

He probably wouldn't look all that cool if he blurted that he spent a night with Astrid in the hospital…but then again…

"Well, Astrid Hofferson called me Friday night…I met her at Denny's at 3 am and took her to the hospital because Scott beat her up." Fishlegs looks at him blankly for a second before bursting out into a bubbly little chuckle.

"Scott? Beat Astrid up? Come on, she's got like 30% talent over him and about a 50% greater brain power to muscle mass ratio, and that's not even factoring in comparative personality strength rates. That's impossible, next time you should make your story believable." Fishlegs warns. "I won't tell Astrid you said that."

"Oh? You'll do me the huge favor of not telling on me to Astrid?" Hiccup crosses his arms, going over the Astrid-Scott situation in his head. It had to be Scott, it just had to…with all of those muscles and that little brain? He makes a vow to investigate further before standing up determinedly, having forgotten completely about the scarcely picked at sandwich on the table. "I'll come with you, say hello. I'll show you. She said we were friends."

He can already tell this bravado is a stupid idea that's going to get him punched…or worse…she won't say that amazing beautiful friend word ever again.

God, he doesn't know if he could live the rest of his life without seeing her smile at him at least one more time…preferably when he's not bleeding out of some important artery that she tore open with her bare beautiful hands when he dared to talk to her at school.

"Ok then…" Fishlegs rises to his feet, obviously uncertain and already assuming a distinctly body guard like stance as he leads Hiccup out of the cafeteria, not too discreetly glancing back and forth like he's expecting some sort of reptilian guerilla to descend from the ceiling and attack with flamethrowers or something.

"M-more than ok!" It's hard for Hiccup to maintain that unkempt bravado once he actually sees Astrid, again, so heart-wrenchingly and tragically perfect. Her adorable freckles and black eyes concealed under that dreaded paste of make-up that he's only started truly detesting in the last couple of hours.

Why oh why does she have to be so…Astrid? It's intoxicating and terrifying and…oh wow, he's going to puke.

Hiccup reflexively hides the cast behind his back, because he doesn't want to see her eyes shoot that penetrating sapphire laser of hatred and reluctant shame, and as he gets closer his gaze clings to the scuffed toes of his shoes. Is he really daft enough to be approaching Astrid Hofferson while she's sitting on that all too famous throne in the middle of her high school kingdom?

"Fishy!" Ruff exclaims excitedly as soon as the two of them are in view, and she pats the seat next to her. "My lips are cold." The gravelly insinuation is enough for both boys to blush and Hiccup pointedly looks away from his best friend and his new girlfriend. A girlfriend he's apparently made out with twice—a shockingly distinct moist smacking noise—three times already.

Hiccup looks up, expecting to see that blonde modicum of perfection so different from the amazingly caring girl he'd glimpsed through shattered bulletproof glass, and the seat next to Scott is recently empty, the divot from that perfectly heart shaped rear of hers still implanted in the upholstery.

He watches the cushion expand and round out, until it looks like Scott has always been alone, sprawled out over far too much of the couch, and when a couple of minutes have gone by without anyone addressing him, Hiccup slouches back to the lunch table, packs his uneaten lunch back into that too geeky dragon clad lunchbox and heads to the library to study.

Even Fishlegs has a hot girlfriend now…Hiccup can't even keep a friend for more than one horrifically magical 24 hours.

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Astrid doesn't know why she dashed like that. One second, she's sitting there, thinking that she somehow magically pulled off hiding her nose from the world, when suddenly Hiccup – her friend – is standing there staring at his toes like they're something critically interesting.

In her defense, she actually did feel a little queasy at the moment, so maybe running off towards the bathroom wasn't completely cowardly, but staring at that too defined seam between gummy make-up and her pale skin, she can't help but feel like her world is crashing down. The nerd came up to her at school? Who does he think he is? What is he playing at? Messing with her like that.

She sighs, rinsing her hands with cool water and holding her palms to her cheeks, trying to calm down her churning stomach.

She feels like she's sprinted a mile.

Once she puts her mind to it, it's easy to walk out of the linoleum palace and tuck herself into the cool hard niche under Scott's arm. It's almost too easy to float through the rest of the day, pretending to pay attention when really her heart is still pounding, because he dared come into the lounge, dared to act like they were…friends.

Friends. Just like she said.

She feels…she feels just like she did at practice, when suddenly she had to beat him, twist him, break him, just because he's different. So different. So ballsy without even trying. Everyone else is going with the flow while he's rocking the boat subconsciously.

Maybe the queasiness is some kind of mental sea-sickness, as her social life is tossed around like a leaf in the breeze.

He came to talk to her…during school…

Confused is always an understatement.

When school finally decides to stop reining in this strange and powerful emotion that might be rage and is probably something much more dangerous and destructive, she races to the locker room, changing and going out for a warm-up that gets her mind pumping and hurts her chilled stiff muscles so intensely that her mind can't even comprehend a single syllable…let alone the two in 'Hiccup.'

She gets back before everyone, her knee twinging irritably with every step…and there he is, russet and scrawny and alone, sitting next to the school building with some book on his lap. Before she's made any sort of conscious decision, she's standing in front of him, nudging the bottom of his shoe with her toe and crossing her arms at him.

"What was that at lunch?" His eyebrows rise at her question, the relatively private environment giving him a measure of that weekend's confidence back.

"You ran away?" He drawls sarcastically and Astrid stubbornly plops down into the grass in front of him, legs and arms crossed so tightly it's hard to tell one limb from the next.

"I don't run away, friend"

Hiccup expects some jibe at the fact he's doing homework, or for her to hit him randomly, but instead this dreadful heavy mahogany silence descends between them and if it weren't so breezy, he'd insist they'd interrupted a funeral, complete with somber thunder-leaden skies. Astrid wants the sun to come out, to chase away the charged air that inflates her and makes her feel far too bold. Too dangerous.

God dammit she's over here talking to the nerd with the pet wolf whose arm she broke and she's actually trying to maintain some kind of friendship.

Neither of them notices the crowd of confused runners looking over at the tense, silent stand off until there's a full half circle of wide-eyed confused teens surrounding them. Oh, the beauty of high school, a couple of cliques cross paths and everything stops to print up the front page news. Astrid turns to the group, and a few of the weaker ones scuttle away eyes diverted, but she ignores them to address the people who seem to think that this little interaction has anything to do with them.

"If you must know, we're doing a mythology project together." Hiccup's ribcage feels a size too small.

She didn't even mock him.

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**So…awkward friends…and the RuffLegs, lucky guy. Plus, Astrid found a new way to deal with those….strong emotions Hiccup incites…**

**Fun stuff**

**So…everyone is completely ridiculous, and I got 53 reviews for the last chapter…again. I can't believe that I'm getting over 50 reviews for a single chapter. This is astounding, and I'm the worst person ever when I say this, but it's late here, and I'm exhausted from editing this, and finally getting it done, and I don't really have the brain power to thank every one of you this time.**

**Trust me, next update, there'll be a list of all of your fabulous names for every one of you fabulous people! Thanks to all of you who reviewed and gave me the motivation to keep writing, this story doesn't go anywhere without you!**

**Special thanks to Hicc, who listens to my problems with this story every single day practically!**

**Love you all, don't hate me for being lazy and tired.**


	11. Chapter 11

**On tim-ish guys! You must be so proud…then again, there's no chance I'm going to update again until at least the 29****th**** or so…And I have a good reason! I'm going to be out of the country in a rural village in Costa Rica. No joke. **

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Frankly, Hiccup is a little shocked that everyone cares so much. Yes, he knows that he is in fact a huge geeky nerd and that Astrid is the closest a human being could possibly be to perfection…but why does everyone else in the whole damn school think that it's their business?

The way that Astrid is sitting next to him makes him wonder why exactly he was so nervous about talking to her at lunch earlier. As unbelievable as it seems, she truly does seem to be confident in the whole _friends_ dynamic…at least confident enough to be around him and not hit him hard enough to break him. She's stretching along with the other runners, who seem to have reluctantly accepted the arrangement and are only glancing over every couple of minutes as opposed to a continuous stare, and when she sits down to carefully roll her ankles, Hiccup plops down next to her, the blunt corners of his clipboard digging into his legs just enough to prove that he really is awake and that this close to her.

Dear God he's close to her, he can see the way the grass lies down under the ruddy orange heels of her running shoes and how the fabric of her tee-shirt creases against her waistband when she bends.

It's really hard not to stare…but friends don't stare, right?

How did he make it this far without ever having to really talk to a girl? He doesn't even know what to say, but he knows that the silence is awkward. They should be able to chat, shouldn't they?

"Sooo…h-how—how was your day?" He asks, his voice a little too high, and far too stilted to sound as cool as he was hoping to seem. Maybe he should just stop trying to be cool, it never works.

"Hm, fine," She answers curtly, pushing her bangs away from her forehead and leaning over to touch her toes.

"Oh. Good." That's one way to completely shoot down his conversation attempt. It's quiet for a minute, and the quiet rumble of everyone else's conversation starts to feel like a buzzing wasp trying to burrow inside of Hiccup's ears. Silence has never really bugged him before, but somehow right how he just wants to scream.

"How was yours?" Astrid mumbles after a minute and Hiccup's head snaps around to face her so fast he makes himself a little dizzy.

"What?"

"How was your day?" She repeats, sounding a little frustrated. She hadn't gone into this whole friendship thing expecting him to be _deaf_.

"Oh, you're asking me—" He points to himself and blanches at her glare. Of course she's talking to him, she's looking at him—Holy crap, she's looking at him. "Yeah, umm, it was fine, just—just a Monday." He pulls a few strands of grass out of the lawn, mashing them between his fingernails to avoid looking at her.

Another silence falls over the anxiously small space between them.

"Did I miss anything in mythology earlier?" Astrid's voice is resentful as she doesn't want to have to carry this conversation. She has to admit though, it is nice to stretch next to him, not quite so…lonely.

She guesses she's been feeling _lonely_.

Pathetic girly emotions.

"No. Not really. Just took some notes…y-you can borrow mine if you want." He offers, his back stiffening at the prospect.

"Why do you keep stuttering?" She nearly barks. "It's weird."

"I guess I'm just weird." Somehow, he avoids the stutter, but his voice cracks halfway through 'just,' which is really almost worse. Now she probably thinks he's pubescent, and that's why he doesn't have a manly beard and muscles.

"Yeah. You are." Well, that's not the most comforting response. He almost wants to quip that he's stuttering because she makes him uncomfortable…but isn't that kind of like showing fear to a predator?

"Umm…so what do—"

"You aren't going to make this a conversation by just asking a bunch of pointless questions you know," she warns him, picking a large pink pebble from the grips on the bottom of her shoe.

"Sorry I'm not some brilliant conversationalist." He snarks and she smirks…it makes him remember that smile, and he has to cough a little to start breathing again.

"There. You're less annoying when you get all sarcastic like that."

"Was that—was that almost a compliment?" Hiccup asks, eyebrows raised and Astrid shrugs, crossing her legs and leaning back on her hands.

"A comment. It was a comment." She insists with a little grin and he smiles back, before forcibly suppressing it and looking at his toes.

"Ok then. A completely innocuous comment." Hiccup repeats and Astrid's grin falters as she reaches over to smack his arm with the back of her hand.

"Don't repeat me."

"Ok," he says, letting himself smile at her. "Any other rules I should know about?" She hits him again, grinning in spite of herself.

"Shut up."

00000

Astrid really had expected for the…warmth to wear off. But Monday when she gets into the backseat of Scott's car with him after football practice, she's not as angry as normal. She doesn't even hit him when her nose throbs as he kisses her.

And underneath this peculiar happiness, the only difference she can see is Hiccup. It's horrible, that a 5 minute conversation with him can change her mood this much. Running didn't even feel like a job, it felt good. She remembered why she even started, because of the way that her blood feels alive, rushing through her veins, flushing under her skin.

She climbs onto Scott's lap, running her hands through that ludicrously thick black hair and smiling down at him.

"Why so happy today, babe?" He asks and she shrugs, kissing him again and pushing him away before he can press closer and rub off the makeup over her nose.

"I skipped first, the extra sleep did wonders," she lies smiling internally, "and some nerds said some funny things. That made me laugh." Scott's big warm clammy hands slide up to rest against her waist.

"I make you laugh though, I'm the funniest," he insists and Astrid nods grudgingly…her good mood dissolving in that all too familiar sense of duty that she hadn't been missing.

"You're really funny." If Scott were actually paying attention to her words, he would hear the way that her teeth clack a little too vigorously together as she spits out the comment. He would think something derogatory about women and how emotional they are.

"Hey…did your dad think I'm funny?" He asks and Astrid promptly scrambles off of his lap, tugging her shirt down and opening the back door.

"Fucking hilarious Scott, that's why he kicked you out," She climbs out of the SUV turning to stomp away.

"Wait, Astrid!" He calls and she whirls around, hand on her hip, eyebrows rose, "You forgot my math homework." Her arms swings forward of its own accord connecting with Scott's chiseled cheekbone with a dull thud.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow." She grumbles, whirling around and trudging off towards her car. This is probably really bad, she just punched her boyfriend, the same boyfriend who could have the pick of any girl in the school and most other girls, the guy who's truly half of her status all bundled up into a hunky muscular package.

The scariest part is that she really doesn't care at the moment.

She runs the back of her hand roughly over her lips, wiping away the physical stigma left by the kissing. She's now glad that it didn't go any further before he had to be that much of a bonehead, then she might even be in an impossibly worse mood.

It's awful, but the thing she's freaking out about is the loss of her good mood…she'd been so freaking happy, so content with the world, so comfortable, and now she doesn't know how to get that feeling back. She fears that it's been lost forever, and from this point forward she's going to be drowning in her own scowl, made worse by the fact that she's actually seen the kind of happiness she could actually feel.

That mild cheerfulness was probably only the tip of the iceberg too. There's probably a whole ocean of happiness, floating somewhere just beneath the hard shell of her ignorance and practicality, and she's never going to get to experience any of it, just because Scott's idiocy crushed her first real good mood in what feels like forever.

She leans against the far side of her car and slumps down to sit on the asphalt, hiding from the few kids still milling around the school. The ground is oddly heated despite the lack of direct sunlight, just from the dry stagnant warmth of the air, and the uncomfortable disconcerting warmth reminds her of the belly of the animal shelter.

Which makes her think of Hiccup.

Hiccup…her good mood…

No. That's a particular connection she refuses to make. No one else is in control of her emotions, especially not some nerd…some nerd who is her _friend. _Is it normal to depend on friends for happiness? Like, she's never actually had any friends besides Ruff, and they've never been buds so much as sisters in arms. She's never gone to the other girl to be happy…more just to have someone to back her up. They think the same, most of the time, and they hang out with the same people, go to the same parties, and Ruff isn't particularly annoying in that fragile way Astrid hates about most women.

But Hiccup…he's nothing like her. He's kind of fragile and really nerdy, he's not athletic, he's constantly putting others first, he's shy, he has feelings, he's a legitimately good person—

"Astrid?" Speak of the devil. She whips her head around at the sound of her name and Hiccup is standing there, a little bit pigeon toed, looking supremely awkward.

"What?" She snaps, a little too harshly, and Hiccup takes a step back, his hands reflexively rising in surrender.

"Just…Umm, why are you still sitting here? Did you lock your keys in your car or something?" He asks timidly, but thankfully avoids stuttering. She hadn't hit him earlier…and even now she's looking at his cast like she regrets it. Or maybe that's just his imagination. But she surely doesn't look smug or happy when she stares at the plaster.

"No."

Hiccup swallows and looks around, avoiding eye-contact. He'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't been hoping he could be the hero…again. He could call someone or give her a ride…that was a stupid plan. What had he been expecting? For her to fawn and leap into his arms?

He'd probably drop her anyway. He glances down at his arms, sighing quietly but miserably at their complete and total lack of muscular definition. Yeah, he'd definitely drop her. And she'd land on her nose and then she'd really bust his skeletal structure up.

"Oh." He doesn't really know what to say, or what to do…would it be supremely rude to just walk away? Most likely…but that's probably what she wants. She isn't acting like she wants to talk to him or see him.

He turns on his heel and starts slumping towards the back of the parking lot where his car is parked in a lone corner of shade, when he hears Astrid stand up.

"Let's work on the project. I'll follow you to your house."

00000

Here they are again, sitting in that too lavish living room, a fire casting a subtle glow over the room. Hiccup knows that temperature wise they don't need the fire, he's just always found that it makes his monumentally frigid house a cozier. Toothless helps with that too, and the wolf is currently curled up behind Hiccup's legs, his chin on the boy's foot as he snoozes happily, occasionally opening wide eyes to look at Astrid curiously.

That girl is back. He doesn't know who she is, but he likes that he gets to see her, and she throws his toy for him when he asks. She also does that teeth showing happy thing when he wags his tail, so Toothless has decided that he likes her. Hiccup is warmer than normal and smells different when she's around though, which is odd, and he wonders if the boy is sick. Sometimes his heart beats too fast as well, and he trips more than normal.

Toothless is beginning to think Hiccup wants to pursue mating with the girl.

He's okay with the idea, she's nice and pets him in just the right spot under his chin. He also secretly assumes that she might fall for that puppy dog pout that never fools Hiccup into giving him food. He'd very much like Hiccup to have a mate that slipped him treats.

He'd also like Hiccup to have a mate, because his boy is really alone far too much of the time, and as much as Toothless likes the company, he knows that it's important for him to have the company of his own species. Sometimes that large rounded boy comes over and they build some contraption, but Toothless doesn't get to help and he has to wait outside, and Hiccup won't let him in no matter how much he claws at the door.

Even now though, the girl and Hiccup are arguing, their voices harsh in the cool evening air, and it's making Toothless a little edgy, waking him up from his nap.

"…I just don't think it's the best idea to have—"

"What do you know about presentations anyway? It's not like you've come this far on charisma!" Astrid throws her arms wide, flinching when her glare makes her nose throb.

"True, but I'm going to end up doing most of it." Hiccup snarks quietly, crossing his arms, and Astrid actually degrades herself by stomping like a toddler, red in the face. The make-up patch is blatantly obvious when she flushes, and Hiccup's eyes are drawn to the stark change in color. Astrid sees where he's looking and her hand flies up to her face, covering it with her palm as she looks away.

"What?" Her growl is a little depleted, and a lot less ferocious than she wishes it were. Hiccup sighs, running his hand over his face and leaning his head back against the couch. Yes, he does have to bring it up.

"You know you can take that make-up off if you want. I know what your nose looks like under it."

Astrid narrows her eyes at him, but simultaneously brings her shirtsleeve up to wipe off the thick foundation and reveal the slightly swollen and bruised skin. It's not that she's somehow mysteriously comfortable with him or anything…it's just that she's afraid that thick oily paste would clog her pores, and she can _not_ have a zit.

That's just not acceptable.

"It looks better than it did, it's already turning green around the edges," Astrid challenges, somehow managing to look belligerent even as she runs her fingers under her eyes, wiping away the rest of the disguise, revealing yellow bruises. "But still. If this were a horror movie, this would be the time to cue the thunder, the monster has arrived." She jokes feebly, trying to make light of the situation.

Joking isn't really her style, at all, but she doesn't want to beat him.

Hiccup cracks a wry smile, glancing over at her and successfully avoiding his reflexive flinch at seeing the marks on her face.

"You don't look like a monster…you just look a little beaten up." He soothes, and she scoffs dramatically, curling up into a little ball on the couch, making Hiccup backpedal. "But I'm assuming it's one of those 'you should see the other guy' situations."

Astrid sneers in response, resting the back of her head against his couch and staring up at the ceiling. The ceiling is bumpy, and the small textured protrusions send dramatic shadows across the mostly off-white surface. The shadows look like bruises…maybe she just looks like part of the décor. A damaged statue from the early period of some famous artist.

Hiccup doesn't know what to do…Astrid is silent, something that isn't a good sign, from what he's seen of her.

"Yeah, I'm—I'm avoiding the other guy at the moment," Astrid admits after a few painful moments of silence. That's not admitting too much, is it? He can't deduce anything from that, and somehow the cryptic statement made that evil place at the back of her head stop throbbing. She feels guilty for showing the weakness, definitely, but there's this certain macabre joy that comes from knowing that he's going to ponder her statement, and therefore she's not the only one dwelling on this situation way too much.

She guesses it could've been worse…had she stayed.

Some bruises really can't be covered with make-up.

Hiccup narrows his eyes. He's not an idiot, he's more of a stalker than an idiot, and he definitely saw her get out of Scott's car. She didn't look happy either. So any sound minded person could figure out that she's here with him to avoid Scott…He knew it.

He's known it ever since he saw her with those damn bruises. Those awful bruises that stand out so starkly against her alabaster skin. There's this foreign sensation bubbling up hot and uncomfortable in his chest and it takes him a minute to place it.

Anger.

He wants to _hit_ something. Preferably Scott's classically masculine nose. He—Why does his arm have to be broken again?

Right, because he could totally batter Scott if he had two working arms…well, maybe if he had two working arms bigger in circumference than a chopstick.

Who's he kidding? Scott could crush him with one finger, even if he had someone else's arms.

"Oh…a-anything you want to talk about? I'm a decent listener, I think, I mean, no one has ever really tried to talk to me about anything serious for prolonged periods or anything, but I bet I could be pretty good at sitting here and being quiet while you talk about whatever you want to talk about, not even that I'm trying to pry or anything, I just know that sometimes it's better to talk about stuff even if it's just to a dog or a wall or a window or anything that doesn't talk back or try and give advice—"

"I like the stuttering more than the babbling," Astrid sighs pointedly, glancing over at him and crossing her arms in a way that comes off as anything but stubborn. "That was some absurd modicum of a run-on sentence." She snaps and Hiccup cracks a smile despite his attempt at reserving his nervous humor for the time being.

"You're…well, you're going to kill me for saying this…but you're a really huge nerd sometimes. Your vocabulary is a bit terrifying." Hiccup mildly accuses and Astrid's foot shoots out jabbing him sharply in his left shin like some tiny little rubber shod lightning bolt. He cringes but doesn't allow his hand to slide down and rub the spot until he's absolutely sure that she's not looking at him.

"That's our secret." She announces boldly, as Toothless pads across to her from his post behind Hiccup's calves and politely demands that she scratches his ears. Astrid rubs the soft fur overly thoroughly hiding the vicarious and alarming embarrassment from the sheer prospect of actually having some sort of secret with the nerd who's actually becoming her friend.

"Is it just me, or do we already have a lot of secrets for a three day old friendship?" Hiccup jokes, chuckling awkwardly and sinking further into the plush leather around him.

"Two and a half day friendship," Astrid quips, nuzzling with unfamiliar tenderness against the soft sleek hair that covers the intelligent crown of Toothless's head. Hiccup kicks his feet up on the coffee table, immediately regretting it as a thin spray of pinkish mud from the school track sprinkles over the crystalline glass covering the intricately hewn Scandinavian prop. Yep, he'll definitely have to clean before his dad gets home, if only to avoid that maximally degrading scorn that so absolutely highlights every inadequacy that he could ever dread.

"Right, because that half a day actually matters in the grand scheme of things," Astrid doesn't answer verbally, instead smiling against the wolf's soft black fur before pasting her scowl back on her face and snarking back at him.

"Let's work on the project before you say anything else stupid."

00000

**So…just awkward friendship stuff. Personally, I absolutely adore their conversations in this chapter, so I'd love your opinion. Hope you're okay with Scott too, so please tell me about him. **

**And because so many of you wondered, this is actually where this story diverges from that of the movie for a while. I'm extending something that happened overnight in the movie into six or seven weeks of friendship and…the rest is a secret. **

**Thanks so much to ZemyxDexion, Mysterious Lynx, Voldyne, Violet Masen-Clearwater, NinjaKangaroo, frangipani blossom, romance nonice, Romance and Musicals, Olympian23, Cbarge, Sha-dokiniichan, Hey Man, A Half-Hearted Hero, xv323, Annabeth The Unicorn, Idiot Thinker, givinglight, TheFriendWhoTriesToDrownAFish, Straw Hat, straw hat, Mimpy, Lord Anubis Judge of The Dead, dirtfan, Leon Woon, divergary, Sakura Saotome Haddok, Burner, ClassicCartoon27, love how to train your dragon, Paosheep, memyselfandI, Gentrie, Shayna7767, CrazyDyslexicNerd, Chaela-laughluuurver, Mythlor, SpencerReidFan89**

**You guys are awesome, and because of this awesomeness, I am instating a new review policy…Basically if you ask me a question, I am going to respond to answer it. Fair? I hope so, because as much as it gives me warm fuzzies, I really don't know how to respond when you guys tell me that you like the story and to update soon. So ask me anything about the story, or the chapter, or what I'm doing, and I'll answer…without giving something away!**

**Hey Man: What is with the bastard thing? Just wondering, and yeah Dog fighter dude as the Red death, glad I got you with that one.**

**Burner: It is a slight exaggeration, but for the most part, my high school was very cliquey and this kind of thing wouldn't exactly be shocking.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi…Do you guys remember me? Sorry for disappearing…I…just read, I'll tell those of you who care what's up at the bottom. I hope it's everything you guys wanted in a long awaited post.**

00000

Planning out conversations before having them isn't pathetic at all, Hiccup attempts to convince himself as he mulls over what he should say to Astrid on Monday again and again. His mentally acclaimed witty discussion openers range from the ever pleasant and cliché, "nice weather we're having" to desperately walking up explaining his "hormonal predicament."

The second one is just funny in his head, if he actually said that, he wouldn't just have a broken limb, but a _missing_ one.

That would make him even impossibly worse at sports.

He sighs, letting his head thunk back against the high back of his office chair in the basement of the shelter. Saturday shifts can be boring sometimes, because they're technically adoption days, and he's not allowed to take the dogs out into the AstroTurf play area and let them run around. At the moment, he has a few of the older, quieter veterans out of their kennels and they're lying around the room, mostly under the desk or on his feet, content to choose their own bed for a while and stretch their old creaky limbs.

An adorably bug eyed boxer mix affectionately called Bruce stares at him from the other side of the chain link fence, itching his pointy cropped ears with a back foot and squinting happily.

Hiccup hates it when he feels like the dogs are reading his mind.

Like right now, Bruce totally just knows that he's thinking about a girl who's way too out of his league and way too good for him, and obviously thinks it's hilarious. Damn dog.

"Oh. You think that's funny, boy? You think that all of _this_," he waves his undamaged arm around in front of his torso demonstratively, "isn't tearing up the babe pool? Look around, see all the gorgeous women lined up to…And I'm talking to a dog." He shuts up abruptly and sits down, crossing his arms in a supposedly impressive way across his scrawny chest and thumbing the rough texture of his cast with his thumb. Like 4 more weeks.

His wrist doesn't really hurt anymore, just occasionally throbs when he trips and attempts to catch himself, and in a weird way he's become kind of fond of the clunky plaster limb. It makes Astrid look at him, or at least that's what he's telling himself, because if she's looking at him to marvel at how skinny or geeky or undesirable he is, then he'll gladly go dig a hole and bury himself.

Well that would be kind of hard.

He wonders if Fishlegs would bury him by proxy.

But then he wouldn't get to occasionally sit in the same room with her while she mocked him and associated with him. That's another thing that he's discovering, mocking isn't so bad when you're in the same room as the mock-er and they're doing it to your face. It takes on a completely different hue, instead of hating whatever quality she's assessing negatively at the moment, from his voice to the way that he talks with his hands to his habit of tripping over nothing, he's suddenly full of blushing glee because she noticed that and she noticed him…and he's so pathetic.

This is barely a step above hoping that she'll emasculate him with her bare hands.

God, he doesn't have a shot in hell. Bruce is so right.

Hiccup turns to the dog, letting his arms fall to his sides with a dramatic sigh as his head flops backwards and he stares at the ceiling. "You know, buddy, you're right. I'm not a ladies man."

He lets the _shocking_ statement sink into the warm stagnant air for a moment before continuing.

"I just don't get it sometimes, I'm nice, I think, I can be considered…well, maybe by some…erm…cute?" He tries for the word, seeing how much it doesn't describe him only at the last second and turning a dramatic magenta and awkwardly tugging at the collar of his flimsy tee-shirt that reveals just how skinny he really is. "Yeah. It's not surprising at all. I wish I were like you, getting all the erm…bitches. And that's not derogatory, I promise," Hiccup sits up straight, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and gesturing to Spike, who's laying with her back pressed against the fence that her kennel shares with Bruce's. "I just meant it in a purely biological sense…female dogs are bitches."

Bruce blinks and sits down, cocking his head.

"I just mean…that's what they're called, ok? I didn't make it up. I would have called you guys something much cooler…"he says to Spike, who's looking up at him sleepily, but in his slightly twitchy and nervous state he's mistaking the expression for threatening. So threatening, droopy eyelids and all…

"Like ummm…well, I don't know. But I swear. And then I wouldn't let anyone go around using it as an insult…And if I had that kind of power, I'd ask to gain a few pounds and—"

"Hiccup!" Gobber's jarring voice booms from the doorway and Hiccup scrambles to shut up so fast that he slips out of the chair and has to desperately cling to the plastic armrests to pull himself back up and avoid crumpling to the cement floor in an undignified little lump of nerd. "Don' be actin' all…this," he waves at the newly awkward sitting position, "on 'doption day…thar might come in some nice suburban couple who don't like people who chat with dogs aboot gainin' weight. It's creepy." Hiccup feels like he's frozen under Medusa's stony stare as he nods miserably and sinks more normally into the chair.

"Right-o. I'll talk to them about kibble and chasing squirrels. Dog talk." Gobber sighs, seemingly frustrated, and stomps back up the stairs, his prosthetic tapping loudly against the cement on every step.

Hiccup idly thinks that it's annoying, but is smart enough to keep the snarky comment to himself.

For once.

00000

Astrid's favorite part about late September is the way that the wind chills a little bit, hovering just below the temperature of the stagnant air, making it finally feel like fall. She loves summer, absolutely adores the late nights, and the parties where everyone can see her with Scott, and the trips up to the reservoir to swim in the shallows and squish the mud between her toes before she can find a quiet corner to enjoy her summer reading where no one can find her. But after school starts, in her opinion, it's just time for the hot days to be over.

It's time for cold nights that press her into a pile of blankets in her basement bedroom where she pours over the homework she can't seem to help but leave for the last minute. And for little fires in the grimy fireplace so she can press her back up against the heat as the cold air of the room chills her toes. It's time for hot cocoa and tea and dishwasher's full of mugs and soup bowls.

Astrid grumbles quietly and goes back to focusing on the worst part about this refreshingly autumnal time of year…the stupid tests.

Calculus test on Monday, a history unit test and some stupid quiz in that waste of time class Norse Mythology, and a physics test on Thursday.

She's been through this before, when all of the old ugly teachers too poor to afford good Botox and get jealous of everyone else's youth and pile on the tests all in the same week, and before, well, it hasn't been too big of a deal…but physics!

That class is kicking her ass again and again and _again_. It's like no matter how many times she goes through the homework problems or stares at the equations, she can't get her answer to match up to the little symbols etched in tiny perfect lines in the back of her textbook like the ten commandments on a stone tablet.

And not only is it endlessly frustrating for a perfectionist to be constantly and consistently not right, but she spends so long pulling her hair out over her physics homework that she got a B on her last essay. And not just a B, an 82%.

Astrid Hofferson does not get 82% on essays, even Scott noticed that was weird, looking at her paper and her incredulous red face for a minute before chuckling about her spending too much time with him.

Ironically, this particular insinuation isn't really anything close to the truth, because if her memory serves, and she very well knows that it does, she hasn't spent anything more than 2 continuous hours with Scott in the last week. Not like anything _notable_ really changed or anything, because like 3 of the four times she ditched him, she just went home and got an early start on her homework then went to bed early, willing the yellowing bruises on her nose to disappear as fast as possible…but the fourth?

Yes, she went to Hiccup's house again, but it's not like it's a big deal or anything, because they are partners and this particular project happens to be worth a full _half_ of their grade.

Then why does it seem weird in her mind?

Maybe it stands out, because this time when she pulled up the winding red gravel driveway that looks like it should lead up to a castle, Toothless recognized her car and ran shockingly gracefully on his three working legs to her door, wagging so eagerly that he had to duck his head down to avoid pitching forward onto his long eager black nose.

She acted like the wolf's eagerness wasn't a big deal, calmly stroking the soft fur on the sides of his head right below his triangular bat like ears and letting his rough pink tongue taste the mysteriously exciting residue from a day at school seemingly left all over her hands, but at the same time it made her feel…well, it made her _feel_.

It was one of those moments where some sort of tangy metallic tasting emotion smacked her so hard in the chest that she couldn't breathe momentarily and for a few uncomfortably bright seconds she could nearly touch the fleeting numbness hovering right outside of her fingertips waiting to slam back down as soon as she forced it.

It's hard to be numb around a contradiction like Toothless. Sweet predator.

For a second, a beacon blared through the hazy blur of the previous Friday night and she could just hear a blinding echo of Hiccup's slightly nasally voice, _"I think you could be sweet."_

Then Hiccup fell, rather than stepped, out of his car and flopped onto the ground, clutching his cast and moaning about his carpals, and the safety blanket of leaden emotional interface came crashing back with a slightly sadistic laugh as she adamantly mocked only his expression, avoiding looking at that plaster abomination like the plague.

She feels like she should be getting used to it, but seeing it only gets worse as she's forced to even further recognize the humanity of the person attached.

And dear God is Hiccup a fully developed person.

Hell, his wolf has more personality than most people she's met, but Hiccup himself? She feels like…well, he seems like a literary character more than anyone else she's ever talked to. What with the huge mansion and powerful father directing him into things he obviously doesn't want for himself. The pet, the gangly stature and outright ridiculous clumsiness coupled with the constant and bipolar litany of sarcastic comments and stuttered word.

In another life, he was probably some misunderstood scientist living in a gothic mansion with an ex-wife in the attic wooing one of the Bennet girls.

Not that she's starting to think highly of him or anything ridiculous like that, he's just a character. A funny kid. She'd almost feel comfortable being seen with him in public, well, after the cast is off preferably.

That damn cast.

The image of that green wrapped plaster tube fills her mind suddenly, blocking out the integration table she's been trying to memorize for the last hour, and she huffs indignantly, frustrated that she can remember the single signature "Fishlegs" branded just under his thumb in bold black sharpie.

She wonders if she should sign it, or if that would seem like a sick autograph.

She groans because her attention span seems to be shrinking by the second and it's almost midnight and her test is second period tomorrow and—Urgh!

She leans over, flicking the light off and flopping over, asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow, homework and clunky calculus book still spread out over the foot of her bed, abandoned and misunderstood.

00000

It's one of those Wednesday cross country meets that make the week seem ridiculously long, because somehow the crowds and trophies always feel like a weekend. Astrid stretches for the race…but it's more than obvious that something is very wrong.

She can't do this. Why is she here running when she has a physics test tomorrow? This meet isn't even a league meet and it doesn't matter and she has an actually important race on Friday and velocity equals distance over time…or is it displacement? What the fuck is the difference? There's a rock in her shoe and she twitches her foot, resituating the tiny little pebble under her toes, knowing that she should take the time to take off her shoe and let the rock out entirely, but she can't remember velocity and she has to run in 27 minutes.

After sitting on the slightly damp grass and momentarily lamenting the way that her white shorts are surely completely plastered to her butt now because of the moisture, she leans forward, hands grabbing the bottom of her racing flat clad feet and resting her forehead on her knees. This is weird. This is bad. She can't concentrate on running because her brain keeps trying to study, but she's too confused to study, and she's going to fail the test and…

Why can't she keep her cool? Her mind sounds like Hiccup—

No! Thinking about how confusing Hiccup remains to be is not going to help her concentrate on running in under 18:00 today.

It's a fast course, and normally that's great, and means that she can get one of those times where people do an admiring double take when they see it in print, wondering how anyone could ever be _that_ fast at running three miles, but now? Now it just seems like…pressure.

She works well under pressure, there is absolutely no reason for her to be freaking out over pressure, because she's used to pressure because she's the best and people who aren't as good as her are always breathing down her neck, trying to be better than her when they aren't as good and—

"—strid? Astrid?" It's a far too familiar voice that rings out in her mind with all sorts of nerdy associations and a striking mental image of deep green ivy crawling over impressive maroon brick on the side of a mansion. It cuts through her panic like lightning illuminating the billows of a storm cloud, and showering a second of striking clarity over the landscape.

"What?" She sits up. Her feet falling awkwardly sideways as she leans back on her hands, breathing a little hard for no reason at all.

"Gobber…ummm…" He really should be used to talking to her by now, but something about the way her bangs are sticking out straight and her face is unpleasantly flushed tells him that there's something more than a little off kilter with Astrid at the moment. And she's terrifying when she's not acting like a lunatic, so his apprehension is completely understandable.

"Spit it out." Astrid barks, looking at the blue sports watch on her wrist and shaking briefly because she only has 22 minutes and everything is ticking by too fast. Way too fast.

"Gobber said you'd been doing the same stretch for 3 minutes, so he sent me over to check on you?" Hiccup has absolutely no idea why it came out as a question, and he furrows his eyebrows as the normally calm and collected Astrid Hofferson runs an impatient hand back through her bangs, leaving them sticking up at all angles.

She still looks beautiful, but it's a completely different kind of beauty, so far separated from her normal strong and independent carriage that she looks almost fragile.

Fragile? There's a word he never thought he'd use to describe Astrid Hofferson, just like _friend _or _ugly_. The first one has slipped through his mind a couple of times…because, well, she said it first, but he's smart enough to be hesitant to believe it, based on the first 18 years of his existence. The second appears to be a complete impossibility, because even now, as her shoulders are hunched in what has to be pseudo-defeat and her eyes are mysteriously wide and almost frightened looking, she's still the most gorgeous girl he's ever seen.

God, that whole, get a reasonable date to prom plan really went downhill, as in this moment, he's the most smitten that he's ever been with Astrid Hofferson.

It takes a minute too long for what Hiccup has said to sink in, because it's very odd for him to be calling her out on looking frazzled, and for a second she wonders if Scott put him up to it, but then again, Scott couldn't even be troubled to drive ten minutes to see her run today, and he's out with Tuff and Ruff's new boy Fishlegs, who's lasted long enough that the idiots have felt the need to initiate him.

Then, in a dangerous whim, before she can over think it, Astrid is on her feet, throwing her arms around Hiccup's skinny shoulders in a desperate hug that sends his clipboard falling into the soft grass with a barely audible thump. She presses her face into his neck as he lets out a girlish 'eep' his arms hovering above his head like he's being arrested.

He'd rather be in the back of a cop car than be in Astrid's unmistakable death grip—wait. It doesn't…it doesn't hurt.

She's not choking him…it actually feels kind of warm and nice, her skinny muscular arms pressing into the back of his neck as she shifts slightly, the bridge of her nose becoming noticeable against his collarbone.

Is…is she hugging him?

What the fuck?

"A-Astrid?" His voice cracks on the second syllable of her name and he flushes, clearing his throat nervously as his heart rate starts to pick up at an alarming rate and he has the urge to reach for his inhaler.

Somehow, hearing her name brings her to her senses and she shoves him off, almost sending him to the ground without really meaning to. She adamantly denies that she feels any better, even though now that ungodly panicking sensation is gone and she can think clearly. She doesn't understand physics any better, but at least now she has the presence of mind to put that out of her thoughts and focus on the race ahead.

But no. She's supposed to be freaking out. There's no reason that her heart ever should have stopped throbbing in her chest, because hugging anyone, especially Hiccup, isn't supposed to make her feel better. It isn't supposed to make her feel less alone, or less afraid, or more like she has people actually on her side working for her, not against her.

Or is it?

No! She is independent! She does not need anyone else to feel any way…

So…why does she want to do it again?

Hiccup barely recovers from the stumble she initiated when she hugged then shoved him for no reason at all, and he's standing, still a little tottery and wondering if he should turn and run back to Gobber as fast as he can. As shameless as it is, he has no moral issues with using the larger man as a shield against the tsunami of feminine fury he fears he's about to face.

But Astrid isn't attacking him, she's standing there, wide eyed and confused looking as he tentatively swoops down to pick up his nearly forgotten clipboard. The papers on it are a bit damp and wrinkled, warped from the moisture, and he smooths his thumb over a stubborn corner that now wants to point upward.

After a second too long of silence, Hiccup somehow can't take it anymore, the pressure of the static-filled quiet on his ears, and he looks down at his toes briefly before forcing himself to make eye contact.

"Is something wrong? Or something?" His eyes flicker to the barely noticeable line of makeup still covering her bruise that must be mostly yellow by now before he forces them back to her shockingly tumultuous blue eyes.

"I just…the physics test tomorrow." She admits it in a mumble, because the fact that school of all things is stressing her out this much is more shameful than anything.

Hiccup's face brightens, because…well, he's seen that face before, and for once, in the week and a half _friendship_ that he's had with Astrid Hofferson, he feels like he can help.

"Do you need help studying?" He asks, not realizing just how disgustingly bold and embarrassing that question sounds, rattling around unabsorbed against Astrid's eardrums. She doesn't _need_ help. She doesn't _need_ anything from him!

"No!" She insists, crossing her arms and turning around, ready to head to the starting line early to finish warming up. "But if you do I guess I could come over after the race." She makes it sound like a favor and somehow it seems less pathetic that way, and Hiccup nods, successfully concealing his smile for the moment.

"Ok." And she's off, jogging lithely across the grass and drawing his eyes without even trying.

His neck still tingles from where her hair tickled his skin when she _hugged_ him. Holy shit, she hugged him. And physics…he knows how to do physics, he can actually help her this time…she's actually kind of letting him help…she almost asked. Well, no, she did ask in her way.

So _that_ is how Astrid Hofferson asks for help.

He'll help her every second for the rest of his life, just to have a chance to be on the receiving end of another hug.

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**So…Yeah…basically the short version of what happened these last two months…Went to Costa Rica, came back, my boyfriend visited for 10 days, I moved into college, I started classes, I had a first round of tests, and throughout all this were a bunch of scattered romantic/personal problems I don't really want to tell everyone about…so yeah. I've been busy, and had writer's block…but then, chasing just came back to me, and started flowing, and I just hope that it's of the same caliber as it always has been. **

**Thanks so much to everyone who is still excited for this chapter.**

**I love you all.**

**And for anyone who's wondering about the times of races in this story, I actually look at my schedule for Cross country meets from my sophomore year of high school, and Google all the top times for all the races on there…so the times I have Astrid running are actually legitimate best times for the courses. **

**I want to ask for reviews here…but don't feel like I deserve them because I abandoned you guys for so long, but I really would like to know if this story is still worth reading, and if this chapter adds to and fits in with the rest of them. **

**Thanks again. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey guys…so…sorry for the long break there, college is crazy, but I'm on winter break, and have a plot twist in the works, so I'm hoping to get up at least two more chapters before I'm drawn back into school. **

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This is stupid, her brain hurts, her knee is throbbing, and everything is so much worse because Hiccup finds this all so goddamned _simple_. These random equations and values and the tedious algebraic and mostly confusing rearrangements are all going into one ear and out of the other without sticking onto anything permanent.

How is she supposed to study right now anyway? She's _tired_, and whiny, and she just ran a 17:57 when it didn't even really count, and she deserves a nap. A nap and some Gatorade, and maybe an apple pie with cool whip…and nachos, there would be absolutely nothing wrong with nachos right now. What she doesn't deserve is Hiccup flinging pointlessly frustrating information at her only to have it glance off of the glassy eyed semi-consciousness of her frontal lobe completely ineffective.

"Ok, so it's the average velocity that's distance over time." Astrid clarifies, frustrated with the entire concept of physics.

"No, displacement." Hiccup corrects in a voice he hopes is comforting and Astrid sighs, smacking her forehead against the heel of her hand.

"Displacement equals distance over time? But you just said that average velocity equals distance over time! Make up your mind!" She is absurdly tempted to tug out her own hair and gag him with it.

"No, I said average velocity equals _displacement_ over time," Hiccup insists as gently as he can, hoping and praying to every deity he can think of that he won't awaken the violent and wounded lioness he knows is lurking right beneath the skinny-girl exterior.

"What's the difference?" The meek, nearly beseeching question isn't at all what Hiccup expects and he blinks hard, ready to evacuate whatever daydream his overly optimistic mind has created that somehow involves a vulnerable Astrid.

The blink doesn't dissipate her lonely expression. 

"Umm…displacement is a vector, distance is a scalar." He spurts robotically and a flinted spark of annoyance flashes behind her eye. "Guess that explanation doesn't help…Oh! Ok! I know how to explain this!" His hand flies into his backpack, slipping past some mysterious electrical wiring and two almost entirely dismantled iPods to remove a pale blue piece of paper from the front pocket of his spare notebook. He lays it down flat on the table between them, revealing the simplified map etched onto it in heavy black ink.

"That's the Berk bolt." Astrid says, recognizing the course map like the back of her hand. "What does this have to do with physics?" Seeing something that she knows has lifted her spirits and she's willing to take this surely convoluted field trip into Hiccup's mind, anything to make her understand this crap.

Hiccup takes in her open expression with a slight smile as he turns the paper diagonally on the table so that the focus shifts to the first mile, where the thick path denoting the course crosses back over the starting line. His finger lands on the intersection with a dull thud.

"Right here, what's the distance to this point?" He asks and Astrid's face lights up, it's the first actual question throughout the entire study session that she's actually known the answer to.

"Mile and a quarter," she proclaims and Hiccup can't help but smile. That's the way Astrid Hofferson should sound, confident and assured, not _mopey_.

"Yes, when you run by here, you've run a mile and a quarter, but you're at the same point on the road as the starting line, so your displacement is zero."

"So…wait…is my average velocity there zero?" Astrid asks, a light seemingly blooming on the horizon.

"Yes, and if _speed_ is _distance_ over time then—"

"Then my speed isn't zero, its 1.25 miles divided by however long it took me to get there!" She blurts as the foreign characters on the study guide slowly start to make sense, drifting into recognizable patterns before her eyes.

"Exactly."

"Geez, why didn't Mr. McPhysics just explain it like this to begin with?" Astrid picks up the map and runs her finger fondly up the vicious incline of the represented hill before shoving the piece of paper back into Hiccup's hands. "Keep going."

"Ok."

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The next morning dawns anticlimactically gray and Hiccup stirs earlier than he'd wanted to as a steely bullet of dim light wedges its way past the thick curtains. He groans overdramatically when the green numbers on his alarm clock sear 6:07 into his vulnerable retinas and flops over, mumbling about gods hating him into the nighttime drool mark on his pillowcase.

After laying there for another 10 minutes, woefully begging for another half hour of sleep and getting none, he nearly falls out of bed, cradling his cast idly as he stumbles down to the kitchen. Rustling through the cabinets as quietly as he can manage, he pulls out his father's special occasion Turkish coffee and makes himself the strongest brew he can manage to choke down.

He hadn't meant for it to be such a late night, but Astrid had finally started to understand what was going on, and every time she got something right she _smiled_…and somehow he'd ended up studying with her until 2 in the morning.

And that's really not so bad in and of itself, he's been up a lot later than that, it's just the total…focus that she garners from him. He can't half ass anything when she's there, inquisitive but sharp eyes watching his every move, waiting to call him out on any mistake that she catches. Maybe it's some sort of carry-over from his knowledge of just how close behind him she's always been academically, but somehow he doubts that. It's just…it's like he can't _not_ give her his full attention, and that is exhausting. It's electrifying—

Yeah…that whole _reasonable_ date to prom plan really isn't going so well.

Hiccup takes his coffee into his living room, sitting on a random sofa seat, which is definitely not Astrid's preferred one…well, so what if it is, it's not like he knew that before he sat down or anything. Well, it's not like anyone can _prove_ that he knew…he picks up a long strand of golden hair stuck to the armrest and furrows his brow. So what if he likes to sit in this seat, it's the good seat, that's obviously why Astrid sits there.

The coffee is way too strong to be palatable, but just sturdy enough to make him feel like he can last until 5. Still, it makes him squint and purse his lips before shaking his head and grimacing as he swallows that exceptionally strong last sip. He makes a mental note to never drink coffee in front of Astrid.

Because she'd _totally_ swoon if he didn't make stupid faces.

His hopes crash through the floor like a cannonball dropped on tissue paper and he stares into the gritty bottom of his coffee mug, lacking the vigilance to even frown. He needs to stop doing that. Every time he has those second long bursts of glee where it seems like what he does to impress _the_ Astrid Hofferson really matters, it's only more depressing to come back to reality.

They're friends. That's more than he could've ever hoped for. Hell, friends and a broken arm seems almost fair when it means he gets to…well, he gets to just be around her.

He sighs and gets up, stretching and swinging his arms around, steadfastly ignoring the loud tinkling shatter of his momentarily forgotten coffee mug crashing against the table. Damn fine china, can't take a hit at all.

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What with all of the caffeinating, cleaning up shards of porcelain, and disposing artfully of the evidence in the very bottom of the kitchen trash, Hiccup gets to school five minutes late, rushing into Mythology with a sheepish smile. He scurries back to his normal seat in front of a horridly gorgeous looking Astrid and sits down, rustling through his backpack for his notebook as quietly as possible.

It ends up being not quiet at all, and half of the class is glaring at him by the time he yelps at the sharp pain of Astrid's pointy little foot stabbing him viciously in the calf. He leaves the notebook is his bag and sinks down into his seat, looking intently at the mottled gray plastic of his desk as if it holds the answer to why he's such a screw up.

He's ready for the physics test, so that he can actually do something _right_.

Hiccup suffers through exactly 17 more minutes of the class he doesn't want to be in, when a torn piece of college rule paper lands on the corner of his desk. He glimpses to either side of him and receives nothing but a glare and a bored yawn and his eyes widen.

The note must be from Astrid.

Oh wow, Astrid Hofferson is passing him notes.

A part of him, an embarrassingly large part in fact, is hoping for one of those 'Do you like me? Check yes or no' notes he used to hopefully pass across the class in elementary school, but when he flips it over, he finds a mostly blank scrap with the equation for velocity scrawled in the corner in neat girlish handwriting.

He adds vectors to the symbols and passes it back, it's not like the mathematical _punctuation_ matters all that much, he just has to idea what to say when she goes and passes him a note like that. What? Does she expect him to start spouting charming intelligent things or something?

Of course not.

He shakes himself out of the daze and tries to put an unwanted mental image of how many guys she has probably 'studied' until 2am with into his head. As unpleasant as it is, it might keep him from _waiting_ any longer for her like some heartsick little shih-tzu forgotten in a purse somewhere in the depths of European public transportation.

The paper lands back on his desk just as the whole shih-tzu thought is making him worry about work, and he looks down to examine it. Right below the equation, in the same small neat handwriting, it says 'cheeky bastard.'

Hiccup can't help but smile as he scrawls, 'sloppy,' and hands the paper back as covertly as possible.

'Not sloppy, efficient,' Hiccup can almost hear the lilt in her voice as she emphasizes the superiority of her methods. He blushes dark pink and leans forward, letting his overgrown hair fall to hide his forehead.

'I still say sloppy,' he hates how even his handwriting looks inadequate next to hers.

'I will punch you,' he reads this with a smirk and flinches comically, blushing darker when Astrid snickers behind him, a bell-like whisper that sends chills down his spine.

'What for?'

'Well, the first punch will be for calling me sloppy, and the second punch will be for every other thing,' she writes, deftly rationalizing the chaos.

'Every other thing?'

'Past, present or future,' he imagines her tone to be conciliatory, and it almost scares him just how accurately he can hear her voice echoing around inside of his skull.

'But wouldn't that mean you never get to punch me again? You're going to have to get one of those expensive rubberized workout dummies,' when he hands the note back, she snickers again, and his chest seems to inflate of its own accord. It makes him glad to be scrawny, because there's no way she could possibly notice his nonexistent pectoral muscles.

'Not at all. This punch covers a limited number of offenses, and when you use those up, you get punched again.'

'Oh. How many offenses?' Hiccup smiles to himself because they're actually bantering. Honest to God bantering, and it's wonderful.

'6.'

'How many offenses do I already have?' The 'past' part of 'past, present or future' makes him intelligently wary.

'3.'

'Who gets to decide this?'

'Me.' He glares at the note for a second. She keeps on spewing these one word answers like he's _bothering _her…which he probably is, but still, she passed him the goddamn note in the first place.

'Do I have to carry a document around of something, so you can keep track of these so called offenses?' Please, please, please. He just wants her to keep talking to him.

'Interesting idea, like a card…'

'A punch card!' he writes with a quiet chuckle, thinking of those stupid things that accumulate like dust bunnies in the corner of his wallet, taunting him with that future _free_ thing he never has the diligence to get.

Astrid reads the note, crumples it up and tosses it into the trashcan a few feet to her right. Of course the teacher doesn't notice, instead continuing to drone on about a trip she once took to Norway with some students obviously far superior to those currently in the classroom.

The last few minutes of class could not pass more agonizingly slowly. He can't decide between ignoring her obvious annoyance with him and writing his own note questioning it. He glances down at his cast, the itching under the hem of it briefly intensifying, before he takes the first option. He can ignore this.

The bell rings and he looks around hopefully, wishing for Astrid to say anything to him, even if she's scowling, but her seat is empty. She's skirting the back of the room before hurrying for the door, head held high above noticing him as she flounces through the door and out into the hallway.

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Astrid keeps up the front the entire way to calculus, striding confidently down the hallway and sitting stridently in the back of the class, turning sideways in her desk and crossing her legs in the aisle.

Why does he have to be funny?

She just—It's so goddamn wrong on so many levels that the scrawny little geek boy makes her laugh. There's still this bubble hovering in her chest, pressing out against her ribs like it's trying to strangle her from the inside. It's dangerous, it's wrong, and she's not _allowed_ to feel this way.

She sees Scott and Tuff pass by in the hallway outside the door, looking suspiciously like they're on their way to skipping class, and the pocket of warmth shrinks appreciably. Scott never makes her laugh, unless she's laughing at him for being an idiot.

She never expected to _want_ to be his friend for any reason other than gratitude, but now he's making her laugh and helping her study. Astrid feels lost in a maze that she never intended to enter, and even now as it's infuriating her, she can't muster the will to hack through the ivy walls and back to her porcelain castle.

The castle is shattered anyway. A month ago, she always felt elevated, now she just feels like she's trying to pretend a powder of shattered china somehow makes her better.

Truth is, compared to everyone else, she's kind of awful—

Before the thought can transfer into any sort of deeper revelation, her teacher walks in and starts yapping about the homework. She passes her paper forward stony faced and pulls out her physics notebook, pouring over the notes.

It doesn't help her forget Hiccup at all, seeing his little untidy notes rimming the pages, and by the end of the period, she isn't sure whether she's more nervous for the test or to face him again. Well, not nervous _about_ him…that's insane, she's nervous about how she's going to act around him. She can feel the veneer cracking, and as much as she hates to admit it, she realizes that she has shown him far too much of the squishy underbelly hiding beneath her stony exterior.

Once she aces the goddamn physics test, she can go back to 'friends' instead of this frighteningly real _friends_ thing that's nearly infesting her thoughts.

The walk down to the very end of the science hallway feels like a death march, and by the end of it, Astrid has a newfound respect for the so-called Salem _witches_ marching to the stake…Why the hell is she thinking about witches minutes before a physics test? Especially a physics test on which her chances of a good grade are dubious at best?

Damn Hiccup. Everything is always his fault.

4 offenses. Her fist clenches involuntarily before she realizes that her throwing away the note probably dissolved the two punch treaty.

After forcing her thoughts to physics, she sits down at her normal black lab table and pulls out two fastidiously maintained mechanical pencils kept only for tests. One green and one blue, both of them with 7 pieces of 0.7mm lead and a fresh twist up eraser. Two blank slates.

She picks up the green one, examining it like it holds some secret deformity before exchanging it for the blue. Blue is more _her_ anyway, green is too far into unexplored territory. She would have bought a pack of two blue pencils, but she couldn't find one on the rack. Guess some idiot somewhere decided the blue needed a green to balance it out.

Looking at the two pencils next to each other with the black tabletop as a backdrop, she can almost see where they're coming from.

Hiccup walks into the room and glances at her, forcing her to remember that his eyes are green. Then she's thinking about Denny's and her nose throbs uncomfortably before she shoves the green pencil back into her pencil bag.

The chair on her right, at the next table over, shifts and Hiccup takes a seat, pointedly looking away from her.

The warm bubble expands so suddenly in Astrid's chest that it almost hurts and before she can stop herself she whirls around in her seat and faces Hiccup, eyes wide and stinging.

"Thanks for helping me last night." It comes out far too loud and seemingly the entire class turns their heads to watch the exchange. She glares at as many of them as possible, and they slowly turn back to worrying about the test to come. Hiccup's head turns in slow motion and he blinks rapidly.

"Ummm…sure…I mean anytime, no problem." And he smiles at her. When he smiles like that, she forgets that he's scrawny and is still wearing that damn cast and it scares her.

The test slides across the surface of her desk with an ominous skidding sound and she turns away from Hiccup, flipping it open and smiling slightly when she sees the first question.

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The test isn't bad. Hiccup can see that it isn't bad as he goes through it, but as he fills in the bubble for the right answer on almost every question, he can't help but wonder how Astrid is faring. And every time he thinks of Astrid, he can't help but feel overheated and…itchy.

She thanked him.

He'd do anything to get her to thank him again, but he'd rather have a hug.

He remembers the warm but terrified feeling of her bony little arms wrapped around the back of his neck and it takes far too long to get back to thinking about physics. He ends up being one of the last few to bring their test to the front of the room and turn it in, and on the way back to his seat, in a moment of post-test relaxation elation he flashes Astrid a thumbs-up.

She returns it with a radiant smile that stains his cheeks scarlet.

Hiccup nearly falls into his seat, because the blazing white of that smile bouncing behind his eyelids deters his feet from cooperating, and Astrid throws him a smirk over her shoulder. He's so glad that it went well, not only does it mean that she won't murder him in a fit of rage, but also that he might get to tutor her _again_.

At this point, he's completely given up on finding a prom date and has settled on saving that money for more coffee.

Is it sick that he's almost glad she broke his arm, it got this whole slew of interactions started. He consoles himself that it must be the right thing because Toothless really likes her, and it's healthy for him to see someone besides hiccup occasionally.

Hiccup remembers that he has to stop on the way home and pick up dog food, and he lets himself be absorbed in that process of listing in order to calm down from Astrid smiling and everything. He needs new food for Toothless, and the wolf lost his last chew toy, so if they're on sale, it wouldn't hurt to pick up another one of those…

He doesn't notice that their teacher left to run the answer forms from the exams through the automatic grading machine, until his paper is dropped on his desk. He blinks rapidly before smiling to himself at the 95 inked into the top of the page in cheerful pink numbers. He had known that the test wouldn't be a problem, but it is always nice to get reassurance.

Everything is looking okay, when Hiccup hears a frustrated grunt coming from his left and he turns cautiously. But of course Astrid is snarling at her paper, her face red and unmistakably angry. He wants to run, but can't make himself do anything but offer up his healthy arm as a sacrifice to anger management.

The bell rings and he flinches, wondering if she'll go ahead and break it here, or wait until they're at least somewhere more private.

Then again, it's not like he has a reputation to uphold or anything.

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**Ok, I don't think I'm too out of practice, but if any of you amazing readers find incontinuities, or glaring errors, please point them out to me? If something sounds stupid, tell me, I mean, I'm a fan of odd phrasing and diction, but hey, sometimes I go too far.**

**Mostly, I'm hoping for continued support of this story, I have the best readers in the world, who review and review and review, no matter how long I make you guys wait, and I'd like to shout out a huge THANK YOU to all of you. So be just as honest and eager as you guys always have been, and tell me what's really up with this chapter!**

**Love you all, drop me a review, and tell me how you like the chapter. Don't worry, the actual plot comes back next chapter…**


	14. Chapter 14

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Finishing a test early is always a mixed bag in Hiccup's opinion. There's that well deserved smugness of getting to relax in the silence while everyone else still has to pour over their exams, and there's the near silence of pencils scratching against paper that echoes some sort of man-made rain on a tin roof. Equal parts soothing and irritating, it always seems to open his mind in a soothing, relieved sort of way.

But it's also time for the nerves to set in, making him question every answer that he didn't instantly know. In a way he's lucky for the distraction that is Astrid, sitting off to his side and chewing on her lower lip and making his teeth deeply jealous. She's definitely something to think about aside from whether the answer to number five really could have been 172.4 m/s.

It also might make him prematurely gray, agonizing over every time her pencil hits paper. Is she remembering to assign her axes? Did she remember that ½ in the equation that she nearly refused to memorize because apparently it's 'absurd'? He's more nervous about her answers than he can ever remember being about any of his.

He tries to tell himself that it's because if he didn't teach her something right, she'll break his other arm, but that internal lie doesn't even begin to stick. She looks at his cast with way too much revulsion, and at this point, he just wants the thing gone. Not only does it itch like crazy, but there's this little hopeful blurb inside of him that yearns to keep Astrid around out of something other than regret, or angry guilt.

It's like, no matter what happens from this point forward, he _helped_ Astrid Hofferson. And from here on out, there's that one physics test that he made happen. She can't pretend this never happened now, right? She can't just wipe him off of her hands like another nerd placated. He helped her, and now on some level she's stuck with him. Not that he wants to stick her with him if that's not what she wants.

He wants her to be happy. With her test grade, with her race times…a minute of happy Astrid is worth twenty lifetimes of sullen and perfect 'golden girl' Astrid Hofferson. And the fact that he even knows that's a possible distinction makes this broken arm worth it in some sick corner of his brain.

He misses Fishlegs being around. He doesn't have anyone who cares about the report of the withering condition of his unfortunate crush, and without the constant friendly mocking, his infatuation has bloomed into something raw and gritty, as uncomfortably self-effacing as it is wearying.

He hopes he's better than the thug of an asshole she's got, but the refusal to see him as anything but an ex-punching-bag makes discovering this opinion as a fact a distant impossibility. Even being a friend isn't much better, he shakes his head in a bitter salute to the rest of the brotherhood in the dreaded friend-zone.

Then again, he's never really been part of the brotherhood…and as much as he tries to convince himself that this is at least a semi-normal situation, it's not. This is Astrid, the girl he never knew could be so complete beneath that perfect, icy exterior. The dream girl all wound up in nightmares and shadows, and drowning in physics homework.

Friends is enough, who is he kidding?

Hiccup doesn't even notice himself staring at her until she moves suddenly, pushing back her chair with a shiny squeak before gliding up to the front of the room to turn in her test. He jerks his eyes away and focuses on an eraser shaving on his desk that kind of looks like a caricature of Jesus.

The staring. He really has to work on the staring.

At least until he's semi-confident he could beat sense into Scott if the thug decided to take issue with the staring. A few weeks…months…probably years at the gym and he might be good to take on Scott's left arm, so…

So yeah. He should really stop.

Hiccup has never been so glad for the bell to ring.

00000

Astrid wishes Hiccup would stop looking at her. It's the same feeling as the teacher looking over your shoulder during an exam, flooding your head with visions of every single answer being wrong. She can just hear his dumb nasally voice telling her that she's making it harder on herself by declaring _those_ axes.

Screw that. The positive y axis is wherever she wants it to be…

Aah crap, two equations and three unknowns.

She glances up at the clock, nervously watching the second hand tick towards the five, eagerly counting down one of the 7 minutes she has left to finish. Astrid doesn't remember the last time she used up this much of her testing time. She usually finishes in half of the period, tops. This is crazy, and hard, and she just wishes it were over.

She glances down at her test. 45 of the 50 problems are filled in, and the rest are half worked into the ground on her scratch paper. She glimpses through her work again and resists the urge to groan.

It's one thing when something's wrong and it looks wrong, but it's a completely different thing when it looks right to her. She wishes she had another pair of eyes to look at it and tell her where she's messing up.

She wishes physics were more clear cut.

How is it even possible for this to happen? How can she just run up against something she can't answer? It's…bizarre.

She wants to hit someone. She just doesn't get _stuck_. That's ridiculous.

But she can't go anywhere from here, she doesn't know how to proceed. She can't think of any tricks, or any shortcuts. It's not a test where she can spin some sort of crap that sounds insightful, and she wishes for an essay exam. Why does science of all things have to be multiple choice? She hates science. She hates being cornered.

But for once, she can't deny that she's _stuck_.

Problem 5 looks like Chinese, and she can almost feel herself getting clammy…

It feels like the hardest thing she's ever done when she fills in the five unanswered questions with C, before shoving back like the test is burning her. She's just going to walk up and turn it in—

The cycle of pointless test advice given to stupid people in her presence runs through her head in a loop. _Fill in every answer unless there's a penalty for guessing. If you don't know, it's probably C. If two answers look similar, it's probably one of them, guess and maybe you'll be_lucky.

Luck. Astrid scoffs equal parts angry and defeated as she does her best not to slouch back to her seat. She doesn't have to be lucky, she's better than luck.

Except she's not. And she knows it as she angrily throws the blue pencil into her backpack. It would have gone better if she'd used the green one, and that's the bitterest thing she's thought all day.

00000

"I wish Scott were here." Astrid blurts, frowning as she sits down on the chair next to Ruff and Fishlegs. They're probably too busy sucking face to hear her, but she doesn't really care.

"Whoa whoa whoa, what?" Ruff shoves the huge boy off with a slurp and a thud as his knees painfully bang the underside of the table, making their food lurch on their lunch trays.

"I said, I wish Scott were here." Astrid's hands curl into fists, daring anyone to challenge the statement. If she knows anything, she should know that Ruff never turns down a challenge.

"Ok, that sounded even more ridiculous the second time. What the hell, Hofferson?" Ruff leans awkwardly close to Astrid's face, inspecting her pupils with a conspicuously serious face. "Did you hit your head or something?" Astrid shoves Ruff back, hoping that she'll fall but knowing the whole time that Fishlegs will catch her.

He does so handily, and receives a smarmy smile from his girlfriend before she's back on the trail, bloodhound nose locked onto the scent of Astrid's peculiarity.

"I said I wish my boyfriend were here, what's wrong with that?"

"Don't kid yourself, everyone knows you don't actually like Scott. Well, everyone but Scott. But seriously, the only times you've seen him in like the last week is to publically make out and hand over his math homework." Astrid scowls at Ruff's knowing, bored expression, wishing the other girl had gone for a scrawny nerd or a football player more interested in a catfight than protecting his woman.

Screw Fishlegs for being a decent guy.

"I like Scott. I mean, just look at him, what's not to like?" Astrid crosses her arms as haughtily as she can manage.

"I can't look at him, he's not here." Ruff drawls, popping a limp cafeteria fry into her mouth with a smirk.

"Fine then, Gladys."

"What?" Fishlegs questions and Ruff flushes then immediately blanches. The silence is clue enough that Astrid has dealt the final blow. Knockout, KO flashing in big red letters in front of an exalting video game character. Pinned. Bamboozled. Yahtzee.

Astrid has never been one to believe in auras or any of that bull, but she swears that Ruff is emanating this spherical pool of loathing.

00000

"So…H-How did you do on the test?" Hiccup walks up to Astrid after he's done taking attendance at practice. His clipboard feels chalky in that weird way that comes from clamminess and dry skin.

He's staring again, and this time he's only glad that she's wearing something that covers her…chest area.

Unlike earlier.

God, it's like she wants him to stare, the way she wears those…shirts.

Hiccup blushes for no recognizable reason and scuffs his toe against the grass, staining the toe of his shoe bright green over the dulling puce from the damp clay track. He hates how that track stains his shoes _pink_ of all colors. He thought athletics were supposed to make you manly and sturdy, not decorated.

"You tell me. You were the one lurking over me the whole time like some creepy teacher." Astrid doesn't look up and Hiccup frowns. He never does know where he stands with her. And also she knows that he stares.

He can't tell whether to be terrified that he's been caught, or offended that she doesn't even see him as enough of a man to be enraged by his staring.

"I was just hoping that you remembered that ½…you know, in the _absurd_ equation." Hiccup shrugs, and to his surprise, Astrid grins slightly.

"I really did call it _absurd,_ didn't I?" She shakes her head, leaning down and grabbing her feet, head on her knees. "I was hoping that was a 1 am figment of my imagination." Hiccup laughs a bit, happy that he dodged a bullet.

"Nope, if you wanted to understand it, I could show you the calculus, but I figure you'd rather rip my arm off." Astrid looks up and smiles.

"Wow, I must look really shitty or something, the great Math nerd isn't trying to teach me calculus."

"No, not at all…I've just figured out that you don't like calculus." Hiccup shrugs, and Astrid can't help the slight grin that threatens to erupt. It's both a blessing and a curse when Gobber calls him over before they can say anything else.

Astrid knows that test didn't go well, and she knows she should be beating herself up, but something about Hiccup realizing that she doesn't like math, and accepting that, makes her smile. She's spent so many weekends on the couch in Scott's basement, hunched over homework, while he watched football games and practically berated her into enjoying it.

No matter how many times she punched him, or slapped his hand away or put in headphones, he's just completely unable to accept that she doesn't like football.

It took Hiccup one night to respect her mathematical opinions, and it makes her feel…whole.

He looked beyond the empty power of a pretty face and actually acknowledged the opinions beneath. And the funny thing is, Astrid doesn't feel the devastating loss of power she'd expected with recognition of her humanity. Giving up perfection, in the case of one arguably insignificant person, makes her feel…forgivable.

As long as it's _just_ Hiccup, right?

00000

With all the drama of her tests this week, Astrid almost managed to forget her meet this Friday, but as soon as Gobber starts lecturing the team after stretching, the steely nerves to prepare grips her gut.

It's the lair invitational, and everyone else is excited because it's not the hardest course in the world, and it's notorious for being fast. That's great when you're some junior varsity hack looking to have a new best time to report to your mommy, but when there's a division one school scouting you and counting course records it's something different entirely.

Astrid can see the course in her mind, she's done it three times before, and has always run a new personal best…but sprinting that uphill finish in less than that 17:33 course record is still daunting. Last year she managed a 17:40, and coming so close without crushing that record was absolutely shattering.

She'd refused to run for 3 days and gained half a pound. It was miserable. She almost broke up with Scott, because he'd won a big game that weekend, and being around his drunken celebration made her nauseous.

In her dad's words, he was disappointed, and attributed that 7 second error to laziness.

Sometimes she absolutely swears she's masochistic, because as soon as those bruises bloomed, she was back out there, running mile sets until Gobber yelled at her to stop.

This year though. This year is her year, she's going to do it. She's been training harder than ever, she's been eating well, and for the most part getting enough sleep.

Today, Gobber is letting them off easy, just a sprint workout, and he assigns her 10 two hundred meter sprints, mostly to stretch everything out.

Astrid doesn't protest when he assigns Hiccup to time her, that's fine. She almost smiles at him as she walks down to the track to join him, but it's a ridiculous impulse she scowls instead, and Hiccup looks away. She really hopes he's not going to be all timid and butt-hurt.

She jogs the rest of the way down the hill and drops her water bottle near Hiccup's feet, and he stays staring at it, awkwardly tucking his cast into his side.

"Come on, don't be like that. I just glared at you because you were annoying me." It sounds stupid to say it out loud, and Astrid walks out to the starting line, behind the other runners who are starting first. She likes having her own timer, it really does make stuff easier, and at least Hiccup is smart enough that he doesn't mess up her timer.

"And I'm not annoying you now?"

"Nope, now you're fine. Ready?" Astrid doesn't wait for an answer, instead sprinting off down the track, loving the feel of her shoes contacting the unyielding clay. She feels steady, and she can believe that she can do this tomorrow. She shoves the physics test behind her and focuses on the finish line.

She puts on a good show, striding around the curve of the track and down the straight away, enjoying stretching her legs, and heaving the cooling September air into her lungs. When Hiccup yells her time across the track she can't help but smile. Even with her knee feeling stiff, she's killing it.

Hiccup is torn. Astrid is actually being semi-nice to him, in her weird, harsh, wonderful way, and he doesn't want to get in the way of that. But she's limping, and while it doesn't seem to be slowing her down, Gobber will have his head if he doesn't report that the golden girl is tarnishing.

After Astrid's fifth 200, she announces she's going to walk a lap, and sets off in a rickety stride, arms above her head. It must hurt, the way that she's nearly hobbling right now, and that's what Hiccup focuses on as he dutifully reports to the top of the hill.

Gobber is on the phone, and he pulls it away from his ear, half eager and half irritated in a bizarre twitch of an expression as he looks at Hiccup expectantly.

"Astrid's limping." Gobber scowls and hangs up without saying anything to the person on the other end of the call. His phone immediately begins buzzing in his pocket, but Hiccup can tell he ignores it out of genuine concern. Then again, what coach doesn't get concerned when his star athlete is limping before the fastest invitational of the season.

"Well, why din't cha tell me sooner?" Gobber stomps down towards the track, hopping on his good foot occasionally. Astrid sees him coming and shoots Hiccup an acidic death glare that makes his skin crawl. He can hear the older man grumble something about another miraculous Hofferson recovery.

"Coach, I'm fine. It's just stiff. I didn't stretch enough. But I'm completely fine!" Astrid stomps, and she can't hide the slight wince of her knee when her foot strikes clay, but her expression doesn't give it away. She's positively snarling at Hiccup and his arm throbs, recoiling from her ferocity.

"Hop on yer right foot." Gobber challenges and Astrid glares at him with as much acid as she can manage while she hops on the foot. She doesn't waver, she doesn't flinch, and Hiccup can just feel her jerking away from their pleasant interactions. "Fine then. Go ice ya stubborn lass." Gobber gives Hiccup a remarkably subtle look of gratitude before taking his phone out of his pocket and walking away.

Astrid steps forward and shoves on Hiccup's shoulders, yanking back at the last moment so that he only totters backwards rather than sprawling onto the ground. Later, she'll antagonize over how weak she must have looked, acknowledging Hiccup enough not to follow through on a real push.

"Seriously? You had to go tell on me?" Hiccup holds his hands up in surrender and takes another step back, glad that he didn't fall flat on his ass. Then again, this relief does nothing to cut down on the terror urging his heart into a lively tattoo.

"You were limping, Gobber told me to tell him. That's all." Astrid crosses her arms.

"So I show you one moment of weakness, ask for help with one stupid, useless physics test, and suddenly you're trying to make me look like some pansy? I can handle my knee Hiccup. I've been handling it alone since it first got jacked, and it's still bending just fine." Hiccup laughs, a shy and muddled wheeze of a laugh anyway, and Astrid flushes beet red. He's going to laugh at her? She thought she was fine, that she hadn't lost any edge.

"I don't think you're weak, Astrid." Hiccup takes a shallow breath, his diaphragm feels shaky in his chest. He can't tell whether it's fear or nausea, and he looks at Astrid taking a deep breath. She doesn't look scary, and that's startling. She looks unsure, for once, and he can see her feigning left, away from her injured knee.

Sometimes, it hurts how strong and beautiful she is when she's not perfect.

"Then stop doing me favors." Astrid barks, frustrated. "I don't need your help."

"I know you don't need my help." Hiccup swallows. "You said friends, you said that before I ever did. Have you ever considered that I want to help you? I liked helping you with physics Astrid. I love physics, and I wanted to help you hate it a little less. I like it when you win, it's the closest you get to happy." He admits in an ungainly rush and Astrid has the gall to look embarrassed.

"I'm going to go ice. No sense in destroying the knee I need tomorrow." Astrid admits with a flushed but carefully blank face. She wants to hug him, but a hug out of happiness rather than desperation seems even more pathetic. "Hot date tonight?" She's uncomfortable with how natural it feels to fall back on wry humor when the situation turns shaky. It's so…predictable, and she hates it.

"No." Hiccup looks at her, suddenly offended like he's never had a hot date in his life. Then again, he most likely hasn't.

"If I'm not busy later, we should work on the project." She walks away before she falls into that idiotic urge to hug.

She shouldn't have hugged him in the first place, it unlocked some awful hug door to fragility, and now she feels inexplicably cold as that stupid needy place in the pit of her stomach tugs towards scrawny arms and gap-toothed shy smiles.

She wishes Scott were here.

Hiccup is smart enough to realize that Astrid's gently departure is as close as he's going to get to her acknowledging his embarrassing speech. And he's ok with that. He's horrified that those words ever came out of his mouth.

00000

Astrid leaves the trainer's room with a bag of ice and a wrapped knee, and she feels shockingly bouncy as she leaves the building, striding out to the parking lot. She couldn't have failed that test too miserably, there are three more, and she can bounce back. Freshman year, coming from behind was her specialty and sometimes she misses the dark horse rush.

And if Hiccup, who somehow has seen the worst of her worst moments, doesn't think she's weak then she's fine. She spins and opens the door with her back, to keep her gym bag from sliding off of her shoulder, and she ambles out to her car with a near skip in her step. Scott is down on the football field and he waves.

She feels giggly and warm, like the freshman Scott wooed, and for once she doesn't curse at every car that cuts her off on her way home. She even manages to convince herself not to check on that disheartening physics grade until _after_ her race, so that she can focus.

Her father didn't have the same inclination. And she's her mother's perfect daughter, perfection is absolutely necessary.

00000


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey everybody. Warning, this chapter has less editing than normal…the inspiration finally came back…for good, I hope. It just started flowing, and I like it, so…if anyone finds any egregious errors I'm more than open to reposting. **

00000

There's something to be said for hand-grading, Astrid thinks as she carefully rolls her right shoulder, trying to make it move the way it should. It feels droopy and she tries not to wince, because wincing hurts.

This is a bad one, she groans as she pulls on a shirt, hissing as it brushes against the raw skin of her torn up ribs. At this point she can't even tell if the shower was a good idea or not…but it made her _feel _better. Washing it all off lets her go back to pretending it's not real, and plus, the reason he got mad is way more important than the fact that he did, right? She did somehow manage a horrifying 76 on that awful physics test. Everything stings, and she curses herself and physics, and alcohol.

Astrid Hofferson got a C, and the perfect veneer splits again. She can almost hear it crack as her shoulder snaps back into place with a sickening pop. Her legs seem ok though, and so do her ribs, the scratches sting when she breathes, but her lungs are fine. No way was she going to let him get near anything important, even if it meant _giving up_ far too soon.

She sets her jaw, smirking that she managed to protect her face too. She's going to win tomorrow, and he's not going to be able to find a reason to do this again. She's going to win, and she's going to spend so much time with Scott that she's never home, and everything is going to be perfect again.

And the scratches on her ribs won't scar like last time.

Little victories.

She honestly hadn't known what she was walking into. It had seemed like a normal afternoon…albeit an afternoon on the tail of a shitty day, but a normal afternoon nonetheless. The first thing that she'd registered when she opened the door was the smell, that awful, sour, drunk and still drinking smell that made vomit and fear pool in the back of her throat in equal parts. She hates the fear. She shouldn't ever feel scared like that, it's nauseating in its vulnerability.

Luckily, the bear stays hibernating in his den, snoring, probably lost in the puddle of his pants where she left him, and Astrid slips out of the house with her homework. She pulls out her phone on the way to her car, and thumbs through recent calls to find Scott's number.

It's third from the top, behind a missed call from a telemarketer and Hiccup.

Before it even registers in her mind, she taps on the green phone icon next to Hiccup's name and holds the phone to her ear as she gets in and turns her key in the ignition. It rings once. Twice.

"Uhh Hello?" Hiccup is shouting on the other end, more than a little bit nasal as a cacophony erupts in the background. She hears what sounds like a heavy metal door, and the background noise disappears. "Um, sorry about that, who is this?"

"Jeez, do you even have caller ID?" Something about ripping into Hiccup feels good, in a familiar superficial sort of way, but the way that it prods at her conscience like an accusation almost makes her gag.

"Astrid?" She can hear him standing up straighter.

"Who else?" She runs her hand through her hair, shying as it bumps against the swelling behind her left ear. Damn wood floor.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. You sounded…different." Hiccup stumbles over what Astrid knows is worry, and it makes her tear up. Damn weakness.

"Yeah, it's Astrid." She dodges the careful accusation as bluntly as she can, and sinks further into the seat, almost enjoying the chafing pain against the scratches on her back. Ignoring the burn makes her feel strong enough to keep talking to the nerdy boy on the other end of the line, and all that it implies.

She's human.

"So…what's up?" Hiccup talks like he's about to be hung up on, and the sad thing is Astrid almost does. Just for predictability's sake. But she fidgets, closing her eyes, and responds as evenly as she can manage.

Her hands are shaking.

"Do you want to work on the project now?" Hiccup sighs on the other end of the phone, and in a scatterbrained moment, he reminds Astrid of those poorly acted bankers in used car commercials who can't give any loans.

She wonders if she's concussed, but finds it more likely that her mind is reeling down the insanity well. She almost forgets to pay attention.

"I can't right now. I'm at the shelter, I can probably leave in like an hour though, do you—"

"I don't want to wait an hour. Can I just come there?" It sounds a little desperate, a little off-putting in its weakness, and Astrid takes a deep breath. "I'll see Spike, I bet she misses me." Hiccup is quiet for too long, and Astrid almost hangs up.

"I'm sure she does. Do you remember how to get here?"

"Of course I do." Astrid snaps. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Ok. See ya." Hiccup sounds so happy that Astrid really does want to cry.

00000

"Ok, so Bart, you're going to be quiet, right?" Hiccup kneels down onto the concrete, and is instantly barraged by a circle of pink tongues lapping at his ears and neck. He gently pushes them away with a forearm, and fondly scratches the cheeks of a bulky boxer mix sitting in front of him.

Bart smiles widely, his eyes squinting as he lets out a booming bark.

"Of course not. You don't know the word quiet, do you boy?"

Woof.

Hiccup wipes his hand across his forehead. He has a headache from the echoes at this point, he'd already been exhausted from his late night study session with Astrid, and then Gobber nearly demanded he come into work tonight…

At least it's for a good cause, the man is upstairs showing a few of the older dogs to a nice old couple from the suburbs. They want a couch dog who won't let him get robbed, and Hiccup hopes so badly that they take a friend home.

Especially now that the shelter has Bart to liven everything up with that damn bark of his, those old dogs don't need the insanity.

Woof. 

"Damn it, Bart!" Hiccup snaps, slapping the top of the desk for emphasis.

"I think that's the loudest I've ever heard you." His hand slips off of the desk as Hiccup jolts upright, nearly falling backwards. Astrid's standing in the doorway, wary but determined as all the dogs run over and eagerly sniff her legs.

He can't help but notice that she looks like absolute hell, her face is red and a bruise looks like it's blooming on her hairline, bluish and angry.

A pulse of irrational anger grips his stomach like a red hot rope and he wishes for what feels like the 100th time that he could just pulverize Scott. It makes him sick seeing Astrid like this, absolutely nauseous.

Woof.

"Bart? Seriously." Hiccup nearly snarls back at the loud dog and he shrinks to the floor, nervous. Astrid glares at Hiccup, looking impossibly younger than normal, with her damp hair and mascara-free eyelashes.

"Don't yell at him." She snaps, shoving through the crowd of dogs as timidly as possible, and setting her backpack on the desk next to his bag before kneeling down and petting Bart's head. He squints happily and licks her cheek, offense forgotten for the moment. Astrid's shirt rides up her back and reveals a set of three parallel red scratches, and Hiccup coughs.

Later, he'll realize it's astounding that he saw a body part of Astrid Hofferson he wasn't supposed to, but now it's just…disgusting.

Astrid looks back over her shoulder, catching Hiccup's eye and glaring viciously.

"He doesn't like to be yelled at." She snaps, standing up straight.

Woof.

"So why couldn't you wait an hour?" Hiccup knows he's poking a snake. She's going to re-break his arm. And damn, it's only five weeks until he gets the cast off and Astrid stops glaring at the plaster like it's assaulting her.

He'd like to think that he knows she won't disappear.

"I just didn't want to wait, I felt—" She can't help it, Astrid's voice catches in her throat and she coughs. "—I felt like _doing_ something."

Woof.

Hiccup frowns, she's so _off_. Her normal fiery strength has been replaced with the strong of ceramic, brittle while heat and pressure bleed fissures.

"Shouldn't you be eating or sleeping or something?" Hiccup nearly mumbles, but he forces himself to pipe up. He doesn't want to annoy her and make her leave, because while he knows it's irresponsible, he'd rather her be here with him than off preparing for her race.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She snaps, and Hiccup can't help but be a little bit glad for the threat in her voice, her familiar bite seems to rush back along with the color in her cheeks.

As Hiccup backs up against the desk, feeling cornered, something clicks, muted and warm in the back of his skull. Even the most timid corner of his mind knows that he's not really cornered. Astrid is here, with him, at the shelter, and she's raw and confused and rinsed clean of her Astrid Hofferson lacquer.

Only Astrid Hofferson ever hurt him, that shiny untouchable girl he never should have worshipped. The hot one with the icy glare. There was none of this nearly fragile, emotive girl in front of him in the society queen who snapped his arm from her throne.

Hiccup pushes off with his hips, stepping away from the desk.

"You have a big race tomorrow." He snarks. He doesn't stutter, doesn't mumble. He's talking to Toothless. He's talking to a friend. "Come on, carb loading? Rest and recovery? Even I know about that stuff."

Astrid cocks her head, like he's speaking some language other than English. She almost relaxes her scowl. The tepid air becomes a little less stale.

"Of course I know how to prepare for a race. Considering I've won a couple." She smirks, and it could be a figment of Hiccup's imagination, but it doesn't look _mean_. Condescending maybe, but not hostile. "You know about that Hiccup? That whole winning thing?"

Hiccup laughs.

"I know all about winning Astrid, I've won the National Latin Society's trebuchet building competition two years in a row." He boasts, only half joking, and Astrid groans.

"And I associate with you?"

"Of your own free will even." Some shackle in Hiccup's diaphragm lets go completely and he relaxes, exhaling a breath he didn't realize he was holding in.

It feels like the first truly deep breath he's taken since Astrid was announced as his partner. Maybe the first deep breath since his dad realized Hiccup's name would never be on the back of a sports' jersey.

Maybe breathing deeper will make him look less scrawny.

Woof.

"Bart." Astrid admonishes gently, and the dog looks sufficiently shamed…for about five seconds until he barks again. "God, how do you hear yourself think after hours of this?" Astrid only met a handful of dogs the last time, not the happy, wriggly mob that's currently playing its way around the room.

She can't help but hate the disorder, it makes her feel small and out of control.

"I don't." Hiccup admits, pushing himself up onto the desk with his good hand and getting comfortable.

"Must be nice." Astrid mumbles, as uncomfortable as she's ever been.

00000

"Ok, I promise I'll be done in 10, I just have to feed everyone." Hiccup says, trying not to look too hard at Astrid. Ever since it finally sunk in that her presence doesn't necessarily mean a death-defying leap, she suddenly seems so close it's suffocating.

In a very good warm way.

It could be better though, Astrid seems off in a disconcertingly gentle way, and her reserved silence is concerning. She's sitting cross-legged in a chair with Spike's boxy head in her lap, idly stroking the pit's soft ears as she snores lightly. Astrid concentrates on the blue-gray fur like it's calculus, as she runs her fingers across Spike's head in intricate patterns.

"Ok." Astrid answers glumly.

"Are you ok?" Hiccup finally spits the obvious question out, his voice tin-like in the sticky concrete room.

"Of course I'm fine." She snaps, and it's good to hear her sound so _normal_. "It's just…do you ever want to take them home." Astrid half-lies, smoothing her thumb over Spike's brow.

"Everyday." Hiccup admits, leaning over and giving Spike a scratch across her rump. "It's really too bad your mom's allergic. She loves you."

Astrid nearly gags when she's reminded of that obscene lie, and she pushes the memory of her mom out of mind as fast as it appeared. "Yeah. Really too bad. I kind of love her too." She mumbles, not intending for Hiccup to hear but not really minding if he does.

"So…I'll be right back." Hiccup slides out of the room as quietly as he can, feeling like he's interrupting something. He can't tell whether the something is beautiful or sad, and he suspects it might be a bit of both somehow.

Astrid slumps, sighing, and Spike looks up at her with groggy wide eyes.

The girl's whole body throbs like an open wound, and her arms ache, and the scratches on her back rub raw against the soft cotton of her tee-shirt. At least her legs are ok, the phrase runs through her mind like a mantra. She has tomorrow to fight again.

Spike gently licks at her hand, and Astrid's thumb brushes up against a sharp, filed tooth that's just starting to dull around the edges.

Maybe it's not so crazy to thing that someone can be plucked out of a horrible situation. It happened to Spike, and now she's sleeping in a row next to all of her friends.

It's just like a dorm right? Right down to the lack of privacy.

Spike just had to keep pushing, she just had to keep fighting no matter what, and everything panned out.

"Because you're my brave girl, aren't you?" Spike smiles, glad that the girl is saying nice things again instead of smelling sad. "My brave, pretty girl." The dog politely flops onto her back on Astrid's feet and requests a belly rub.

Just as Astrid's fingers start to dance over that magic ribcage spot that makes Spike's leg twitch, there's a clatter in the hallway and the dog springs to her feet, crouching to the ground with a low growl.

"Stay here girl." Astrid gets up, hands clammy as she strides to the doorway. It just _feels_ ominous, and even as she's sticking her neck out she hates herself for walking into this blind. It feels too much like her house.

As soon as she opens the door her heart drops. The towering figure is all too familiar, and Astrid's fists clench into her sides, adrenaline erasing the pain as her chest inflates and she feels seven feet tall.

That dog-fighting vermin holds a sausage finger in Hiccup's direction, and Astrid can't help but feel a little bit of misplaced pride when she sees Hiccup's terrified smirk.

"Hey, I didn't think you'd come back." Astrid snaps, her arms nearly quivering with her readiness to punch. He won't know what's coming. He won't expect it at all.

"We're talking sweetheart." The man exudes some putrescent terror, and Astrid's nostrils flare as she steps up beside Hiccup, crossing her arms.

"Oh, that's funny because I thought you were leaving." She lets her eyes flick to the distinctive gun shape wedged into the top of his ill-fitting suit pants, before making eye contact and taking a step forward, fists clenched so tight her hands are asleep.

"You don't want to do that little girl." Astrid sees red.

"I'm not a little girl you piece of shit covered—"

"Astrid!" Hiccup's hand lands shockingly heavy and warm on her shoulder, tugging her back. She nearly growls at the injustice of it all. She needs to beat this guy up, for everything all these dogs have been through. For every asshole who picks on anything weaker than them.

"Still don't have her under control, eh?" The man flicks a business card onto the floor and meets Astrid's gaze. "I'd still pay you a hefty price for that pit of yours. She'd be a great breeder." The urge to growl returns and Hiccup's hand clamps more tightly on her shoulder.

He's stronger than she would have guessed, and she grits her teeth.

"Well, I guess you're not going to calm down enough…It's a shame, I come here as an buyer, prepared to do business with you fine people, and you treat me this way."

"You should come back during business hours, the manager oversees all adoptions." Hiccup says as calmly as he can manage, his arm throbbing from holding all of Astrid's wiry coiled muscles back from destruction.

The man leaves with a final sneer, his muscles flexing against the stiff polyester of his ill-fitting suit. He'd probably be far more comfortable in the executioner's suit he deserves.

"Why didn't you let me at him?" Astrid shrugs his hand off as viciously as she can, snarling down the hallway. She could still catch him…

"He has a gun! He's a bad man, Astrid. He's been back 3 or 4 times this month, I've gotten good at dealing with him, and I don't need you running out here like some sort of pipsqueak battering ram and almost getting us both killed!" He's never been so scared, to be honest. He's scared of Astrid, sure, he knows that she's probably going to hurt him, but it's not as scary as the girl getting hurt. That must be what makes him brave as he snaps, waving his arms and causing a ruckus to erupt from the kennels.

"Pipsqueak?!" Astrid roars, balling her fist and swinging it at Hiccup's stupid face. She tugs it back at the last second, punching her palm instead and spinning in an irritated circle. She couldn't hit him…for once that imminent brutal connection felt more wounding than healing, and she stomps in frustration.

"You're five foot 4, 110 pounds, and bruised to high hell." Hiccup's calm voice shocks even him, and Astrid looks at him like he's a dangerous snake in the grass.

"Don't you ever mention my bruises again." She snarls. As if he hasn't seen worse. As if he didn't take her to the hospital when she had no one else to turn to. Some foreign part of her chest cramps so powerfully that it's hard to breathe and she gulps air like she's desperate. The next moment of flighty, steely eye contact is enough to both temper her anger and make her indignation glow like an ember as she spits out an exit line. "I'm leaving now."

"Wait—" Hiccup doesn't even know how to backpedal, and his hand weakly clutches at air as she stomps away, nearly slamming the door. "Well, that went great."

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Astrid tosses and turns, trying to get comfortable wedged between Scott's clunky body and the wall. His bed is too soft, her back hurts.

She wishes she'd taken the time to get dressed again.

At least Scott's family had spaghetti for dinner.

She's already tried hitting the quarterback 3 times to wake him up, but it didn't work, and as much as she hates it, she's stuck pouting into the sheetrock.

Just keep fighting. She only has to fight a few more months, and then she'll be somewhere else. Finally. Just like Spike.

Then it hits her like a ton of bricks. Spike fought and fought for her freedom, for her life. She was fierce and unapproachable and terrifying…but to finally be rescued, she had to stop fighting.

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**So, lots going on. Hiccup realization that Astrid isn't a banshee. Astrid's realization that she doesn't need to be so fierce…some messed up clarification on Astrid's home life….**

**Hope everyone enjoyed it…I hope to have the next chapter soon, It's finally becoming fun again, and I hope this chapter brought some stuff together. **

**So, I'd totally love any of you who finds this worthy of a review, and thanks for reading the author's note in the last chapter and bearing with me, it means more than you all know, being welcomed back so warmly after dropping everything on its face. **

**But you know what they say, gotta get back on the horse. **


	16. Chapter 16

**Hey, everybody, now, I'm a wee bit impressed with myself that this updated as quickly as it did. But you know…finals make it so easy to procrastinate. But they're over! And I'm back to one job this summer (albeit 40 hours a week), but I hope I'll be able to post more! **

**I'm finally not despising Astrid so much…**

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Crack.

Snap snap. Astrid rolls her head back and forth, settling into her stretch. She's sore, but nothing too bad. She has a headache, but the advil is kicking in and after warm up, she feels loose.

Something is wrong though, a hefty whine seems to be emanating from her hips, a tightness she can't stretch out, and she feels nauseous looking around at the competition. Everyone looks fit, she's not the only one looking for a record today. Everyone else is standing out like a beacon, stronger than she's ever given them credit for, and the thought makes her feels worse.

She didn't hit Hiccup yesterday, and what if that means she's finally weak?

She hasn't spoken to him, and he hasn't spoken to her. He spent the entire bus ride in the front seat, animatedly talking to Gobber as if nothing had happened, and maybe to him, nothing did. He got off without being hit, no one shot him, and all the dogs stayed at the shelter. That should make her happy too. She didn't add sore knuckles to her litany of bruises, and that should be a positive.

She's never won anything by being positive and she narrows her eyes, stretching her hamstrings until they seem to sting. Big strides, fast is about big strides.

Focus.

She rolls her ankles until they stop crackling on every twist, concentrating on stretching and flexing her toes. She'll tape them in a minute, but for now she just relishes on their free motion. She's glad her shoulder's fine today, and her rib bruises aren't so bad. She can forget them, and she can breathe.

Astrid glances over at Hiccup, without her own permission, and sneers, quickly averting her eyes to her watch. He's got his dumb clipboard again, when everyone knows he's smart enough to just remember the time.

Lazy.

She sits down and digs her athletic tape out of her bag, taking off her shoes and spreading her toes as widely as she can. Intent concentration feels good, and she focuses wholly on smoothing the sticky fabric against her feet, tucking the frayed ends and snugging her socks up to her ankles.

She doesn't notice the shadow until she stands up…into something dense, and falls back down onto her damp grassy seat.

"Get out of the way!" She snaps, smacking at the legs in front of her blindly.

"Ouch!" The slightly nasal voice makes her freeze and she looks up, scrambling back.

"Why were you in my way?" She's quieter than she meant to be, and it makes her face feel hot. She rubs the back of her hand across her cheeks to hide it and immediately regrets it, as she can feel her make-up smudging. If there was ever a day to be ready for a photo-op…

If she gets herself together that is.

"I was coming over to wish you luck." Hiccup sounds obstinate, and Astrid scowls, pushing to her feet.

"Oh, so now you think I need luck?" There's not nearly as much venom in the words as Astrid would like there to be.

"No, I don't." It's blatantly honest, and a sense of self-worth floods into Astrid's guilt-ridden gut and she sighs.

"Thanks, Hiccup." She looks at her toes and stretches one calf. Scott hasn't been to any meets since the first one, and she wonders what that means. She hopes he wins his game tonight.

Hiccup's belief in her is making her feel more ready than Scott's status ever has.

"You're welcome. But seriously, there's no doubt in my mind you're going to kill this." She looks up at him quizzically.

"You aren't mad about yesterday?" Astrid's tone lacks its normal cadence, but her face threatens Hiccup not to mention it.

"I want to be, but I hate that guy." He admits with a grudging smile. "But never again, I really don't want to get shot." He waggles a semi-stern finger at her and she can't help but laugh.

"Trust me, I don't either. I'm beat up enough as…as is." She realizes it's not funny after it's already tumbled out of her mouth.

"Yeah…those bruises I'm not supposed to mention." Hiccup looks at the ground and scratches the back of his head with his still encased hand.

"I said—"

"Hey…I get it. He's just more important to you than you are right now." His fists clench and he wishes he could do something about all of this. "Actually I don't get it, I don't get it at all. You're too great for all of that. And I'm completely confident that you're going to go run under 17:30, but I can't expect you to respect yourself? That's messed up."

Astrid steps back, equal parts abashed and furious.

"Who says you know what's going on?" They're going to take her away. They're going to take her to some court ordered home before she can finish her season, and she's never going to get away from all of this…shit.

"I don't. I can't even start to know what's going on with you, Astrid." Hiccup runs a hand through his already ridiculous hair, and steps away. "But I know you're going to do this."

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Three…Two…One…BANG.

The gunshot feels like electricity, coursing through her ears into her feet, as she takes off up the road, using the slight incline as incentive to lean far forward over her feet, pulling herself forward with air-grasping hands.

It's not a competition, she's ten yards ahead by the first turn and she almost smiles at the burn in her lungs. She's strong.

The first mile is an uphill push, and the wide dirt trail feels stable under her feet as she pushes herself faster. 5:20, she wants at least 5:20, it's all down-hill from the one-mile, but she needs that quick split.

She imagines wings on her feet and counts with the beat of her shoes as she rejoins the road. She can't hear anyone behind her, the mob is probably just entering the dirt portion by now, and for the first time she almost pities their slower pace. They have to deal with the raw caustic feeling for nearly twice as long, and it makes her so happy to be fast.

She sees a willowy form at the top of the hill and impossibly lengthens her stride, smiling as she passes the one-mile. Hiccup is focused on that blue stopwatch, but he sounds happy as he shouts out 5:16 in her direction. She exhales sharply, keeping the cramps at bay as she turns and heads down the paved path.

The downhill feels absolutely blissful and she settles into a bruising pace, her feet pounding with her heart. The bruise on her forehead throbs with her pulse and she feels so alive, so undeniably alive as she gulps air into her lungs.

She feels ok to push, and her heart beat falls out of rhythm with her feet, and the two mimic iambic pentameter…or at least that's how she starts to count it.

She's glad it's cool out today and her knee throbs lightly, just joining in the vitality.

10:32. She can't slow down here. 10:32 two mile split.

She can see Gobber nearly bouncing with joy as she approaches the divet in the trail that marks the two mile. He's holding some stop-watch that she doesn't trust, but that doesn't prevent her from being happy as she charges by to an excited shout of "10:31."

Her coach dances with joy…well as much as a man with a single leg can. Almost there. Almost there.

She can feel lunch nagging at the back of her throat and gasps, pushing a little harder. So close. She'll be done in seven minutes. She has time, she doesn't even need to worry about that uphill sprint. That'll be cake, she probably won't even have to sprint.

It's only a few minutes later when she's crossing residential streets to the shock of unprepared crossing guards. The pace bike reappears and keeps her going, she keeps her eyes on its dirty back tire as it pulls her up to the base of the final hill.

150 yards at an angle that looks like Everest from here. She can see the clock from the bottom, and it reads 16:53, she lost time on that third mile and it terrifies her into a sprint up the incline. She can't breathe, breathing isn't important right now. Unnecessary.

It's 17:24.14 when she charges through the tape, walking to the chutes with her arms above her head before she folds forward, losing her lunch onto the pavement as gracefully as she can manage with her quivering knees and churning stomach.

It's not victory, it's relief as she stands up and smiles to herself, walking out into the glow.

She looks around briefly, and spies a grinning Hiccup beckoning her over to the finish line, where he's still standing with that glorious clip board. He should frame that thing…it has that time on it, and she's not even embarrassed in the slightest to walk over and talk.

"Did you see that?" It's a rhetorical question, but she still appreciates his beaming nod. He pulls a pack of gum out of his pocket and offers her a strip. "Thanks. I promise I'll use this before I fall on you this time." Hiccup turns bright red…thinking about that strong pretty girl falling on top of him again. His heard throbs as the second place girl darts across the finish line. "Water, I'll be back." She doesn't know why, but she really likes the idea of being with _someone_ right now.

She tells herself that it doesn't matter if it's Hiccup, but somehow she knows that's not quite true. But being happy is a carefree vacation, and she goes with it, swinging her water bottle around her finger before unscrewing the top and taking a sip. Her stomach gurgles nearly violently as her throat moistens and she feels the life coming back to her dry tongue.

She shoves the strip of gum into her mouth and nearly moans as the delicious wintergreen washes away all the sour bile from around her teeth.

Endorphins, they make everything seem wonderful.

Hiccup looks attentive, she guesses that he must be expecting everyone else as she walks up next to him, leaning against a light pole.

"The gum is a good idea. I should have thought of that." She sips on her water, re-inflating with every drop.

"Is that an Astrid Hofferson way of thanking me?" He peers over and smirks.

"Thank you Hiccup." She sing-songs like a kindergarten class, and looks back straight ahead, freezing. "Oh…I think…" She squints at the man wearing a white polo, talking to a race official. "That's the USC scout I've been waiting for…at least I think."

"Well go over there." Hiccup suggests, as the second Berk high girl starts her sprint.

"But…" She wishes she hadn't smudged her makeup earlier and her hands nearly fly to her cheeks, patting it back into place as best as she can.

"Come on, go over there." He writes down the next time, smiling at the number, and nudges his shoulder in Astrid's direction. "He's not here because you're pretty, he's here because you're fast."

"You're right." Astrid says, almost dazed as she smiles mildly at Hiccup, restraining the urge to hug him. The grand total of people who don't care at all if she's pretty is now up to two, and it's freeing in a way she never would have expected.

Pushing through the crowd feels a little bit like claustrophobia crossed with euphoria as people move out of her way. She's someone right now, someone important, and she did it without Scott, without hanging on anyone.

00000

"We're definitely interested. Give me a call and we'll set up a meeting, but I'll warn you, we aren't finalizing anything until after state this year, and if you go on to compete well at a national level…" The scout is happy, and that's a really good sign, Astrid supposes. At the same time, this is all going far too well, from the strong handshake to the academic compliments, and she can just tell a hammer is about to drop. "We'll just need to talk to a parent about all of this, and they'll need to sign releases, because you're only seventeen."

There it is.

She's not going to get anywhere if her half-drunk father comes in and crushes this offer with his heavy hand. Her heart falls in her chest and she forces herself to smile.

"I'll be back to you soon." He pats her shoulder, the way one would a prize horse that they were sure about buying.

"And I can't wait to hear from you."

She waits until he's out of sight in the crowd to stomp her foot and groan. She knows she's being childish…but seriously? She's made it this far, only to be jammed up against the same road block that's been trapping her since fifth grade.

The race officials are smiling and shaking their head in her direction as they amend the old record board with dramatic black marker. That Astrid Hofferson is never happy, she's unrealistic, she's a diva. But damn she sure can run.

She can almost see the judgmental thought bubbles floating above the crowd, everyone smirking at the ridiculousness of youth. Her life is perfect. They think—no, they know that her life is perfect, and it's like the whole world is lying to her.

The congratulations drip off of her like drizzle as she finally makes her way back to the bus to ride back to school, and she doesn't think twice about plopping down next to Hiccup in the front of the bus. He seems mildly shocked, but not at all disappointed as he arranges papers and murmurs to himself.

"So mumble-y. Why are you so mumble-y?" Astrid snaps, crossing her arms and folding up with her shins braced against the pleather back of the seat in front of her.

"And you were so happy an hour ago, you sure run on a quick cycle." Hiccup muses, handing something to a beaming Gobber yelling over the phone at someone with a nearly demonic smile on his face. "How did it go with the scout?"

"Great, it went freaking great, he wants to set up a meeting. They're definitely interested." She stares at her knees, frowning.

"So…you're mad because you don't have anything to complain about at this exact moment in time? Record breaking 5k, _hottest_ stud in school, pending scholarship." The sarcasm drips like molasses, and Astrid resists the urge to hit him. It didn't feel right yesterday, and it wouldn't feel right today.

"Sometimes I think I liked it better when you were _quiet_."

"What's wrong?" Hiccup isn't concerned. He's beyond that into the realm of pure irritation, she's letting this happen to her and then expects to complain about mundane little things. She can run so fast, and try so hard, and she's so…vital but is letting herself be kicked? No wonder she's a mess.

Her fight or flight reflex is backwards. Or something.

"Nothing." Astrid wishes she'd sat alone now, and Hiccup resents the fluttery warm feeling in his stomach. He's mad at her, and that means her shiny lean arms shouldn't make him so nervous when they pull the smooth fabric of her uniform jersey tight against her side.

He feels so strongly about the combination of injustice and arousal that his head feels too small, for one of the only times in his life, he wishes for more room to think.

Not that he's even remotely sure what would fill the rest of the space. Probably inappropriate thoughts about the girl who he still feels lucky to be friends with, because that's what seems to invade every currently available nook and cranny.

He doesn't even see Fishlegs anymore, he's so busy smooching Ruff all the time. He's two weeks behind on the trebuchet and can't even work on it with his stupid broken wrist.

It doesn't hurt anymore and she's getting the cast off in two weeks, so that's a relief at least, he's going to be glad to use all his fingers again. And he's even decently sure that Astrid is planning on sticking around…or he was until she came over in such a huff. Then again, she did come and sit next to him, when she could have sat next to anybody. Anybody would be happy to sit next to Astrid.

That is, if they can put up with her temper.

"Well, if you aren't going to tell me what's wrong, I just won't say anything." Hiccup doesn't expect a reaction, just silence, but instead Astrid sighs and juts her lower lip out as angrily as possible.

"The scout wants to meet with my parents and I don't want him to." Hiccup understands more than Astrid could know. He dreads any time his father gets involved and turns his future into a prolonged discussion about the college glory days and his lack of athleticism.

"Like I wouldn't understand that? You know of my dad, things always get worse when parents butt their huge beards in everywhere." Astrid smirks.

"Something like that, I guess."

"And they always insist they're trying to help, but it ends up being more of a nuisance than anything." Astrid nods. Help, right, that's what he's _totally_ trying to do.

Not punishing her for not being her mother. Not punishing her for wanting to leave like her mother. Those thoughts would never cross that whiskey addled angry mind of his.

Of course not.

"Always insisting they know what you need, and they know what's best for you, even though they're making you miserable." Astrid adds, swallowing against a stubborn mystery in the back of her throat.

"Parents." Hiccup leans his head back on the seat and closes his eyes, and for a split second Astrid can't help but think that he's really not awful looking, no matter how far his Adam's apple sticks out.

"What are you up to tonight, Hiccup?" She doesn't know what she's doing, all that she knows is that she doesn't want to go to the post football game party. She doesn't want to go home and shower like she's about to be captured, and put on clothes that make her feel fake and fragile, all to go perpetuate an image that just doesn't appeal anymore.

Something about the scout being interested in _her_, not Scott, not some high school persona. Her. The girl who runs every day, and tries so hard it hurts.

Her effort has been in all the wrong places, she's been aiming herself in all the wrong directions. And she doesn't know if hanging out with Hiccup is smarter, it's surely social suicide, and he could turn out to be an obsessive freak like everyone else seems to be on the inside. But it's a different option, even if it's not a better one.

Different is a start.

"Honestly? My dad's out of town again, and I'm going to give Toothless a bath." Hiccup sighs at his own pathetic life and Astrid can't help but snicker.

"Big Friday night plans, huh?"

"Why are you asking any-anyway?" He stutters and Astrid elbows him in his bony side.

"Calm down, stutter boy. I just don't want to go to Scott's party, I'm tired." She lets her head thunk against the seat back. "And I don't really want to go home." It's the most honest sentence she's ever uttered. "Parents." She weakly explains, sighing.

"Well, if you want to get really muddy, Toothless wrestling is always a two person job. Water is evil." Astrid laughs at the explanation.

"We can't have him breaking your other arm." Astrid says with a shrug. "Sure, I'll help."

Hiccup can't get over the 'we.' It's equal parts unbelievable and terrifying.

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**So, I'd absolutely love any feedback that you guys feel I deserve! **

**Not gonna lie, this was fun to write. I hope I'm not lapsing into a colloquial relationship between our two complicated characters too quickly, I'm trying to keep it measured, but Astrid is just getting tired of holding that wall up all the time…and she's giving a lot less f***s about what everyone thinks.**

**PS. Some of you guys asked about the dogs in the last chapter, and actually they are all based on real dogs. I work at a doggy daycare and none of my canine buddies mind me taking liberty with their wonderful characters! Shout out to Bart my favorite 85 pound lap dog! **

**I know he can't read. You don't need to let me know.**

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed, and I hope to deliver the next juicy tidbit soon!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey guys, the first half of this fell out of my head, and I just had to get the rest finished and posted, because y'all need to read it. **

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"Are you a hundred percent sure that _all_ the doors up here are locked?" Hiccup has a slightly panicked look in his eye as he leans back against the basement door, holding it shut the best that his scrawny arms can.

Astrid rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, the still salty skin rubbing together with a gritty sensation.

"Yes, I checked all of them. Twice." Astrid sighs, and nods her head towards the door behind Hiccup, equal parts bored and irritated. "But seriously? He can't be this hard to give a bath."

"He's a 107 pound wolf. He doesn't do what he doesn't want to do, Astrid." Hiccup insists, trying to make her feel the gravity of the situation.

"Then why even bother?" She asks, torn between sarcasm and curiosity.

"He smells like dog, and he makes the house smell like dog. And if my dad gets back and it smells like dog…" Astrid sighs.

"Let's do this." Hiccup stands up, still tense but barely smiling. "How hard can it be?"

It only serves to make her nervous when he snickers ominously, opening the door to the wide basement staircase. To Astrid, it's stairs, but to Hiccup, it looms like some dark forested tunnel that's luring him on a wolf hunt he doesn't want to attend.

Astrid nearly shoves past Hiccup and starts walking down the stairs, sick of the fanfare. He's a dog. A big dog, sure, but how hard is it to give any dog a bath? She's three stairs from the bottom when a black blur slams into her knees, laying her flat as it roars up the stairs, head down as it dashes by Hiccup.

"You told him he was getting a bath?" Her reply surprises even her, because she really didn't know she thought so much of Toothless.

"We were talking about the day." Hiccup answers exasperated. Astrid pushes herself to her feet, doing her best not to wince as her exhausted muscles complain.

"And you couldn't leave that little part out? You couldn't just say 'and then we'll come home and sit'? Or something?"

"I don't want to lie to the wolf, Astrid. He'd know, I know he'd—He'd just know I was bullshitting him." Hiccup flushes at the look he receives. It's like Astrid's now absolutely sure that he's an alien.

"You need to be a better liar Hiccup." There's a minute of a disgusted glare, before Astrid pushes her way up the stairs. "Let's go get him."

Hiccup wishes he had half as much confidence that they'd catch him.

It takes five minutes to get him cornered against the front door, which Toothless can't believe is closed, he's standing up, his good front leg scrabbling against the knob furiously.

"Ok, I'll get front end, you get back." Hiccup suggests, and Astrid nods, facing for the first time that this is going to be dangerous. Hiccup touches his wrist and Astrid touches her side, this is going to hurt.

They lunge, and Astrid can't help but be impressed by Hiccup's momentary grace and speed. She's starting to hope she can convince him to try _some _sort of sport…The thought is cut off by a wolf tail smacking her against the face as she madly, blindly grasps for something to hold. She ends up with one hand behind the wolf's ribs, and another just in front of his hips. Above the squirming, she can see Hiccup snugging Toothless's head over his shoulder and grappling around his chest.

"Go." Hiccup shouts, and starts running backwards, closing his eyes with the muscular weight crushing against the base of his spine. Astrid sees that he needs her to lead and she drags the dog's squirming back end right, leading Hiccup to nearly stumble backwards down the stairs. Toothless bucks back as hard as he can and Astrid groans as his hips jolt into her sore ribs.

When they get him into the bathtub, she whirls around, shutting and locking both doors behind her, and giving Toothless a threatening stare. He ducks his head and tries to hide against Hiccup, who is removing his belt…

"Whoa whoa whoa! What is going on?" Astrid shouts, shaken more than she thought she would be.

"Oh shit! Jesus, I forgot—" Hiccup swears, tugging his baggy pants back up around his waist. "I forgot you were in here, for a second there—"

"Ok, ok. Well, I'm here. So why are you taking off your pants?" She almost chokes on the last word. This is weird. This is very very weird.

"Water. I mean, the dog…I'm giving the dog a wet bath." He groans, slapping his hand over his forehead. "I'm taking off my pants," His voice cracks somewhere in the middle of that sentence and he exhales sharply, doing his best to pull it together, "because I don't want them to get soaked while I give Toothless a bath. I always just do it in my boxers, I didn't think." Toothless is trying to sneak around Astrid and she whirls and glares at him , pointing a stern finger at his face and making him shrink back into the tub.

Astrid sighs, wiping her palm over her face. She can't believe she's in this situation.

"Go ahead. That makes sense." She shakes her head, "but leave your underwear on, ok? That's…yeah. Just…yeah." She never thought Hiccup could make her so flummoxed. And mushy. This is pathetic.

"I don't want to now!" Hiccup is struggling with his belt, while trying to hide his trembling hands. He can't believe he just did that. He just started to take off his pants in front of Astrid Hofferson. Or just Astrid, whatever, he really can't tell which one is worse. One is meaner, but he dreams about the other a lot more. He never thought the first time he took his pants off in front of a girl, she'd yell at him.

That does wonders for the confidence.

And now she wants him to just proceed? What if his boxers go all…wet and clingy? He wishes he'd have a heart attack. It'd be kind, at this point, if he just keeled over.

"Oh come on. It's not like I'm going to get excited about your chicken legs and attack you!" Astrid tries to brush off the completely inappropriate excitement that this situation is stimulating. Goddammit, it's Hiccup and a freaking wolf, she shouldn't be curious, or interested, that's insane. She has Scott, she probably just wants to look because she's only ever seen Scott, and Hiccup couldn't be more opposite. That's normal right? Wondering about the other end of the spectrum.

"Thanks for that?" Hiccup snarks, rolling his eyes and dropping his jeans. Well, it looks like he has nothing to lose, anyway. Perfect.

He avoids eye contact as he steps out of the pants and into the tub, pulling Toothless around and using him as a shield. His hands are shaking as he struggles with the leather buckle on Toothless's shoulder blades, gently unclasping it and releasing his limp leg to hang slack. The bright white scar around the atrophied leg stands out against the black fur and Astrid does her best not to be shocked.

Hiccup turns on the faucet to hot, and scratches at the matted fur from where the strap had been laying. Toothless arches his back into the touch, continuing his nervous panting as the water starts to steam. Hiccup turns down the temperature about a quarter turn, switching the bath to shower and removing the showerhead.

Surprisingly, the wolf perks up when the hot water starts soaking into his fur, and Astrid can't help but smile. She's surprisingly succeeding at ignoring the skinny elephant in the room, Toothless is a good distraction.

Hiccup is busying himself rubbing warm water down to the wolf's skin, trying to hide. He's in a room with Astrid, without his pants, and it's anything but pleasant. He wishes he at least had a second hand to make this go faster, as his cast hangs limply at his side. It takes a few minutes to get the big dog soaked, and then Hiccup is forced to make eye contact as he points at his shampoo on the shower rack.

"You mind?" His voice is a lot smaller than he'd like it to be, and Astrid feels that thrum of guilt in her lower stomach. She forces herself to roll her eyes.

"Sure. And you know I didn't mean anything by it, right?" Hiccup sneers, as she flips up the cap of the shampoo bottle and drizzles it down the dog's back.

"No, I don't know that. You can be a real bitch sometimes." He starts lathering the soap, squatting down and getting the white foam down Toothless's back leg, and gently massaging it along his front. Toothless looks shy, and Hiccup does his best to comfort him. "He doesn't like his sling off. It makes him all…pathetic. I think that's why he hates this so much."

Astrid can't quite remember the last time she felt this…bad. Hiccup really doesn't deserve her snapping at him. Just because she gets what she doesn't deserve doesn't mean she should perpetuate that. She's been…shitty. Completely shitty.

She steps into the tub. Kneeling down in the soapy scummy water and rubbing the soap in on Toothless's other side. The dog turns and smiles at her and she reaches up, wiping warm soapy water over his ear, before she goes back to rubbing the soap into his thickening winter fur. Her hands glance across Hiccup's as they both try and scrub a patch of mud from the wolf's stomach. He flinches back and she sighs, pushing her hair out of her face with a soapy hand.

"I'm sorry."

"The mighty Astrid has apologized to one of her lowly subjects." Hiccup refuses eye contact.

"Oh come on." The words leave a bad taste in her mouth. "I said sorry."

"But nothing's going to change. I'm trying here. I'm honestly trying because—" Because he's dreamed about everything she could be, and now he sees so much more impossible potential. Because she's beautiful, and unexpectedly volatile and he can't be mean to her. Because friends sounds wonderful. But he can't say any of that. "Because I said I would."

"I—"

"You know what, Astrid? You act like I'm lucky to talk to you, but you're lucky. The way you act, it's like no one has ever been nice to you."

Astrid flushes, and swallows. The silence is ear-splitting.

"Thank you." They feel more equal than they ever have. "I'll work on it, ok?"

"That'd be good. And warning, rinse cycle." Hiccup laughs as Astrid looks at him menacingly.

"Don't spray me." She steps out of the tub, leaning against the door.

"Hence the warning."

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"…Astrid?" Hiccup prods her foot as gently as he can, and her blonde head springs back against the couch.

"I'm awake!" She snarls, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Completely." He snickers, trying not to stare as she wipes a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth. That shouldn't be beautiful, but it is, and it's always going to be. He's being crushed under the biological pressure, and he can't even bring himself to care.

"So, what was the last thing you said?" Astrid leans her head on her hand. Her eyes itch and her eyelids start to lull shut, before she forces them back open.

"So Thor's boring you too? He's so…Clark Kent." Hiccup remarks with slight disgust, but that could just be because he can't help but mentally sub Scott's chiseled face onto every mental image of the Norse god. No one ever said anything about Thor beating up the Goddesses…but then again, they were probably tough like Astrid, and never would have said anything.

"What? I mean, he's alright, I guess." She thinks about the daring deeds and muscle bound adventures and smiles a bit. "Maybe a little bit Superman."

"What?" He hadn't expected her to get that reference, "That's a little geeky that you actually know that."

"Of course I know who Clark Kent is, Hiccup. That superman curl? I'm all over it." She laughs, actually enjoying joking around with someone. She doesn't _want_ to think of Scott's similarity to the comic hero, but it flits across her brain, making her fleetingly worried about not going to the party tonight. She glimpses at her watch, it's starting in like half an hour…she could still make it if she's late…

"Oh yeah, me too. He's hot." Hiccup laughs lightly, "But seriously, Thor is kind of boring. We should…reevaluate." Astrid feels a rush of completely irrational anger, because she picked Thor, but she's too tired to prop up a front right now and she deflates into the couch.

"What were you thinking?" She bites her lip against all the snappy replies welling up in her throat. "I mean, it's not like we're that far into it, our thesis isn't due for a week and a half."

Compromise. She remembers some ghost in the back of her mind saying that compromise is the secret to any relationship.

Relationship. It feels more permanent than friendship, but that might just be her. It's terrifying to acknowledge that Hiccup has put up with more than enough of her shit, and now it's her turn to deal with his.

Terrifying, but interesting. She likes the friendly flutter in her chest and the curiosity bubbling in her throat, wondering what she can say. Boundaries feel good, in their coddling way, and she's glad to not call all the shots for once.

Not like she's ever going to let him know it, though.

"I don't know. I mean, I've read ahead in the book—"

"Of course you have." Astrid interjects, shaking her head playfully at the nerd.

"Anyway, I've read ahead, and might have found something you'd want to do." He suggests, his voice faltering a bit, and Astrid crosses her arms, waving him on. "Valkyries, they're women warriors send down by Odin to collect soldiers for the Gods' army, or something like that, I haven't really finished the chapter but I thought it might appeal to you, like the badass women fighting might interest—"

"The rambling. There goes the rambling." Astrid cuts him off with a smirk and shrugs.

"And Valkyries sound fine." She doesn't care as much as she should, but at the moment she's just exhausted. Record winning 5K's take their toll, no matter how unnoticed they go.

It pinches at her gut that Scott wasn't even there.

She feels lonely without the big guy, even if they don't have anything to talk about, or anything to do with their clothes on. She guesses that no matter how…detached he is, being with someone for four years ties a tiny part of you to them, no matter how hard you try to avoid it.

Hiccup hums lightly as he types into his all too expensive and complicated looking laptop and Astrid can't help but remember when she didn't avoid emotion. When her family was together, when running was an escape from parental disagreements, not the pain of being at home.

She remembers warm and fuzzy campfires, holding Scott's smaller hand for the first time and kissing him goodnight. She remembers the way his face flushed pink and he hugged her again before leaving, making sure to flex his biceps one more time to make sure she'd noticed. He was so cute then, so gangly and hopeful and full of desire.

Their first time, snuggled under the blankets on his bed was nothing short of magic, all high hopes and clumsy fingers.

But then he'd made first string, and her dad had gotten the call that would change her life forever. Things fall apart.

She'd never even thought of putting them back together, until Hiccup tried so hard to help her.

"Hey? I said—"

"Not asleep this time!" Astrid announces, coming back to reality. Shockingly the smack isn't as harsh as normal and she flushes for some reason she doesn't understand.

"I didn't say you were." Hiccup starts talking again, something about Google and .org, and her eyes glaze over. "Are you too tired to do this? I mean, I can drive you home if you want? You could just come back and get your car tomorrow…" He kicks himself for how presumptive that sounds, but hope holds out when she doesn't immediately snap back.

"I'm ok, really." Astrid sighs, thinking about the sleep she should be getting and the shower she should be taking, and the party where she should be. "I'm just—I'm freaking exhausted. I'm grimy, I can feel the salt and Toothless dirt, and there's a party I'm supposed to go to, but there's about a million places I'd rather be." She blurts, feeling immediately embarrassed and breaking eye contact, looking down at her hands like they're a Picasso.

"You don't sound particularly ok." Hiccup is reeling, all the reasons that she doesn't want to go to the party pouring through his head. He can't take not saying it, and he looks at her as solidly as he can, as he throws caution to the wind. "Is it Scott? I know he's been—"

"No! It's not Scott, he's fine. A little boneheaded, but fine." That's the one thing she refuses to give up. The solidity of her _perfect_ relationship is sacrosanct, and nothing will interrupt that. Even if right now, she'd rather make out with Toothless, and the wolf probably drools less anyway.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but—"

"There's nothing to talk about." Astrid says with finality, quelling all unhappy thoughts and putting her mind back into its gilded cage.

Hiccup almost brings up the bruises, but he senses the stone wall of Astrid's tenacity and thinks better of it, contentedly turning back to his laptop. He feels grimy too, and can't imagine how awful it'd be if he had to _run_ and then give his filthy wolf a bath. He wonders if he should offer her a place to wash up, and the thought makes him flush, feeling equal parts excited and terrified as he looks up, shrugging before he even says anything.

"If you wanted to shower off or something, we have like six bathrooms. You can take your pick." Maybe it's not weird if it's not his bathroom, that sure makes it harder to picture, which is both a good and a bad thing.

"Nah, it's ok. I don't have anything to change into." She doesn't realize how maddening she can be, either that or she's even bitchier than he thought. Not imagining her naked is hard enough, without her mentioning lack of clothes. She folds her legs up onto the couch next to her, and pulls her phone out of her hoodie pocket, her eyes scanning the LED screen and widening.

She has a text from Ruff, and given the other girl's blunt nature, it must be _something_.

'Are you even coming? Scott's with Missy Brown, she's going leech.'

Leech. The word burns into her eyes like acid and she scrambles to her feet, eyes blinded from the phone as she searches madly for her flip flops.

She's losing the last thing, she can't let this happen.

"Astrid, what's going on?" Hiccup sets down his laptop, fearing for its life, what with the new tornado erupting in his living room.

"Shoes, I need my shoes." She rummages her keys out of her hoodie pocket, and shoves her phone back in, taking her hair out of its messy bun and tugging on it with grubby fingers.

"What?"

"I've got to go, like now." She starts trotting towards the front door, barefoot, leaving Hiccup in a confused daze.

"But your shoes?" He scans the room for whatever corner she found to hide them in this time.

"I'll get them tomorrow. Put them with my bag, would you?" Astrid shuts the front door behind her, sprinting to her car, hands shaking from the effort of holding her world together.

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**So…what did you guys think? I absolutely cannot thank you all enough for the remarkable support I get every time I post! It is completely amazing, and I feel so so lucky. I hope that you like this chapter, and that you take the time to tell me what you thought. Every one of your nice reviews makes my day, and certainly don't say thank you quite frequently enough. **

**I hope that the little bit of awkwardness went well here (Life mimics art, I ended up having to give my dog a bath after he rolled in a dead fish…but I guess I asked for it…), and I did some work in unfurling a little bit more mystery going on here, and a couple plot points fell into place in my head, so that's good. Always good. **

**Anyway, tell me what you guys thought! I hope to have the follow-up done soon. Everything is spiraling, and I hope it's fun to read!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Relatively timely update…be proud! Just kidding…but really. I'm super proud. **

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Astrid parks around the block from the Thorston's house, locking her car and patting down her hair one last time. She walks around the corner and into the party, trying her best for her normal strut, but feeling as though she's falling short in her gym shorts and Berk high tee shirt. Without the costume, it's harder to act the part of perfection, and she has to focus on keeping her eyes straight forward, not acknowledging those around her.

Opening the front door lets loose a tidal wave of beer scented humid air and Astrid keeps her face carefully curious, as though she doesn't know what she's walking into. This haughty negligence causes her to completely miss the arm darting out from the eaves and wrapping around her bicep.

"Wah!" She whirls around, ready to slap her attacker, but when she sees Ruff and Fishlegs she lowers her hand and shakes her arm free. "What? Where are they?"

"Slow down dude, you look like crap." Astrid frowns, pushing her messy bangs out of her face. Ruffnut looks a little too happy as she continues, "and I'm still pissed at you for calling me _you know what_." Fishlegs politely plays bodyguard to the conversation, sipping at a cup of beer like someone half his size.

"So you texted me so I could watch my boyfriend flirt with some other girl?" Astrid snaps, crossing her arms and cocking her hip.

"No, I texted you so you could come and kick that slut's ass, but I figured you'd at least bother with mascara first. Come with me." Ruffnut takes her hand and pats Fishlegs' back, letting him discreetly off of guard duty as she leads Astrid up the stairs to her bedroom. She nearly shoves Astrid back to sit on the foot of the unmade bed, and starts rummaging in the back of her closet. "Let's be clear here, I'm mad at you. You crossed a line yesterday." The taller girl looks over her shoulder with a sharp glare and Astrid feels sufficiently shamed.

"I'm sorry—"

"Whoa, you're saying sorry? You're really freaking out of it." Ruff tosses a scrap of black fabric at her. "This is going to be way too big for you, because I actually have something up top, but it might work." Astrid glares at her friend, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious as she turns around to change. She strips down, tugging the dress down over herself and adjusting the extra fabric to hang in a way that she's not exposing herself.

"Am I good?" Astrid asks, clinically making sure that she's not showing anything that shouldn't be shown.

"Of course you look hotter in that than me. That's just the natural freaking order of things." Ruffnut shoves a pile of dirty clothes off of a chair in the corner and points. "Make-up. And put on this perfume, you smell like wet dog." Astrid's hands are soon full of foundation sponges and discarded eye shadow palettes as Ruff smears everything around in a way that can't look worse than post-race slob.

"Ok, ok, Missy probably has Scott cornered by now, I have to go." Astrid stands up, slightly shocked to find her hair braided and her feet wobbly in a pair of oversized heels.

"Ok." Astrid does her best to stride to the door, but she teeters a bit.

"Hey." Ruff calls, with a grin. "You owe me. You owe me twice."

"Of course. After we're done with our seasons, ice cream on me." Astrid knows looking thankful is out of character, but maybe that's a good thing.

"Like I haven't had two Twinkies today, I'm trying to keep up muscle mass, you're the scrawny one." Ruffnut punches Astrid's arm. "I expect ice cream tomorrow. Fishlegs is hanging out with Hiccup, and I'm in desperate need of a girl day." Ruff is trying, and she's probably always suffered these bouts of humanity, and this makes Astrid's heart clench. The world feels so pungent from outside the porcelain castle.

"What's Fishlegs doing with Hic—" Astrid starts before Ruffnut nearly pushes her out into the hallway.

"Go get him." The door shuts behind her and the exhausted girl stands up tall, surveying the room, feeling more capable of pretending to be her partying self. She saunters down the stairs, drawing eyes like she's used to, and relishing in the attention as she surveys the living room. It doesn't take long to see Scott's black curly hair sticking up above the crowd.

There's a curly red head around his chest, bouncing and laughing at his broad grin and it ignites a red hot anger in Astrid's chest as she glides through the crowd, pushing people out of her direct path. She knows even now that it's not completely Scott's fault, as strange as it seems. It's not a post's fault if a bird craps on it, and Scott has about as much self-control as a post.

She grits her teeth. She's got to keep _this_. She should have been doing a better job on his math homework, this is insane. It's only a few months more, she only has to hold onto him for a few more months, and then she'll be in college and everything will be different.

Missy has never been shy, a burgeoning head cheerleader eager to carry out that oh so common stereotype, whatever the cost. Astrid is exceptionally glad for the flimsy dress as she sidles up behind Scott, grabbing his hips and peeking over his shoulder like a viper.

"Hey babe, who's your little friend?" The other girl's face lights up with indignation and Astrid can't help but grin.

"Come on, Astrid! We've only had English together all year!" The false kindness leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, and Astrid walks around to lean against Scott's side. The big quarterback seems thrilled with the sudden attention and unknowing that he's been doing anything wrong. Knowing Scott, Missy probably asked how to throw a spiral, and he thought she was genuinely interested. Stupid can be dangerous.

"Oh. Well, I haven't noticed you." Missy seethes, and her anger is satisfying. Part of Astrid can't help but be upset that Scott isn't cheating, and she can't possibly place why.

"Excuse me, but Scott and I were having a conversation." God, she's trying _so_ hard to be cute

It's nauseating and Astrid resists the urge to mime puking all over the floor.

"Oh, that's nice." She stares blankly at the girl until Missy finally spins and walks away into the crowd. 

It doesn't feel good this time, she feels the crushing pressure of someone else's failure like an empathetic cyst.

"She was asking about my bowflex, and I was telling her all about the sweet new extension pack I ordered, you know the one on sale on that body-building website?" The most embarrassing part is that he's honest, and doesn't realize what just happened.

Again, that pang of claustrophobia clings to her gut, and she feels trapped in her boyfriend's strong arms.

"Yeah. You're bowflex extension pack," Astrid muses quietly, wrapping her arms around Scott's neck and feeling awkwardly overheated. "Let's go somewhere quiet." Charging into the fire is the best way to get over a fear of being burned.

00000

Half an hour and a beer later, Astrid stumbles out of Tuff's bedroom, leaving Scott to get dressed alone. Tuff sees her and gives her a grinning thumbs up from across the room, and she answers it with a glare, leaving her borrowed shoes in the hall and making a bee-line for the deck.

The colder night air is like a gulp of water and she leans over the railing, resting her head on her hands and rubbing her temples with rubbery thumbs.

She doesn't know why she's doing _this_ anymore.

It just seems pointless, to be running around at this party, clinging to someone who doesn't even see _her_ anymore, while she'd rather be anywhere else. But she can't face walking into those Berk high hallways without all of this. It's a shameful weakness and it makes her physically ill, and her nauseous stomach churns threateningly.

The door opens behind her and she jerks around, shooting a glare at whoever is interrupting her.

"Oh Jeez, sorry." It's Fishlegs, and he looks suitably terrified at her glare.

"Oh, it's just you." Astrid turns around, going back to looking over the backyard.

"Umm, can I stay? Or are you going to break my arm…" It's genuine fear and Astrid genuinely guffaws, and it almost dissolves into a sob. But she holds it together with a herculean effort.

"I'm not going to break your arm Fishlegs, I'm not a wild animal." She leans back over, rubbing a hand over her forehead.

It's silent, save for the lull of the party through the deck doors, and the quiet somehow makes it harder to breathe but easier to think, and Astrid's mind spirals through vivid daydreams, somewhere detached from this absurd reality. Fishlegs is quiet, sipping yet another beer, feeling a little bit over his head.

"Nice night." He announces, and Astrid turns to look at him confused.

"What? Oh. Yeah." She stands up a little straighter, stretching her back. "It's nice out."

"So…umm, you were with Hiccup earlier, right?" Fishlegs asks, a little timid, but braced by the alcohol.

"Yeah. We were…we were hanging out, I guess." Astrid scuffs her bare toes against the deck, glad to not be embarrassed. For once, it's normal to someone that she would hang out with Hiccup Haddock.

"Oh. Cool." Astrid can see why Hiccup and Fishlegs are friends, the bigger boy sure is a brilliant conversationalist. "How is he? I hardly see him anymore."

"Ruff keeping you occupied?" Astrid laughs, the rougher blonde does have a way of taking over. "He's…He's good. I mean, I think he's lonely, in that big house by himself." The empathetic surge feels like heartburn and she clears her throat.

"Yeah. We're working on our Trebuchet tomorrow." A week ago, Astrid would have laughed, but this isn't the time.

"I know, I've been captured by your girlfriend to entertain her in your absence." Fishlegs furrows his thick blonde eyebrows.

"You have been hanging out with Hiccup. Your sarcasm level is up at least 4 points." Astrid pushes her hair back self-consciously and cocks her hip, wondering how far it is to the ground.

"Not that it's a bad thing."

"It's fine." A moment of silence engulfs the two.

"Do you have any more beer?" Fishlegs asks and Astrid shows him her half-full cup, turning down the offer to get her more.

"Can I have it?" She's taken aback, but a bubble of mirth rises in her chest as she slides the cup along the railing towards him.

"Go for it. I need to drive home anyway." He chugs it with about the same social grace that he uses for everything else and Astrid shakes her head with a smile.

"Man, this is so crazy. Hiccup would be dying if he knew I was drinking with you." She turns to him and raises an eyebrow.

"And why is that?" He quickly realizes he's spoken too much and leans forward, the deck creaking under his sizable weight.

"No reason. Practically a negative reason, really."

"I'm not dropping it, Fishlegs." Astrid insists, for some reason nearly feverish not knowing why Hiccup would care. It makes no sense, but she's embarrassed at the thought of Hiccup seeing her like this.

"You said you weren't going to break my arm."

"Why do you keep bringing that up?" Astrid stomps, and spins in a frustrated circle, before stepping up towards Fishlegs. "Fine, just tell me or I will." The threat feels equal parts real and ridiculous. He says nothing and she presses forward. "I will break it, I will snap it like firewood."

"Like you don't know Astrid. I'm not going to throw Hiccup under the bus, plus, it's obvious." There's a slight slur in the big boy's voice and Astrid uses it to her advantage, hoping beyond hope that she can get somewhere with something asinine.

"Of course, it's obvious. I know all about it, I just want to discuss it." He doesn't look put off, and Astrid pushes forward. "I want to discuss how this whole thing—the thing that I know—is going to work…" She tests her luck, "statistically. How it's all going to work statistically."

"Oh." Please, let it have worked. "That's different then."

Astrid waits a minute before prodding him with a gentle word.

"So…"

"Oh right. How much Hiccup likes you." That last beer must have kicked in the full on drunk effect. This is just the wrong time too, as her heart starts throbbing like a drum and her head flushes violently.

"What?" She pauses, "I'm a little confused at the…I'm drunk. Say it again?" She blatantly lies, grasping at straws that it'll get through.

"Hiccup likes you a lot." Fishlegs dishes, with a sputter. Astrid's stomach clenches violently, and she suppresses the urge to smile with all of her strength. Smiling makes no sense, she just won Scott back, and Hiccup isn't even buff. She just likes to be liked, that must be it. "But the statistics of you wedging him in the friend zone are approximately 999 to 1, but I can never encourage him not to get his hopes up. He's still hopeful, I think. Or at least he was the last time we talked about you." He interrupts himself with a burp, then sighs and contents himself with drunken silence.

"Of course he does." Astrid sighs after a moment of awkward silence, her heart halting its frantic tattoo. Fishlegs barely even sees Hiccup now days, what with Ruff claiming his every second. "He has a crush on the great Astrid Hofferson, just like every other teenage boy."

"Oh, good, you did know." Fishlegs breathes a sigh of relief.

"Yeah. I know." Astrid throws her head back, frustrated beyond belief. That rush of having someone _like_ her for nothing other than herself leaves her head in a hurry, leaving her weak and pale as she angrily flicks a cup from the deck railing. It hits the grass with a swish and a plunk and she nearly groans with the deflation.

"Don't sound so bummed about it. Hiccup isn't a bad guy." Fishlegs defends with a drunken belch, and Astrid shakes her head.

"Of course he isn't. But you know he doesn't like me, right? He likes…"She gestures at the out of character dress trapping her knees, "this, alright?" She's so glad that he's not going to remember this tomorrow…probably. Even if he does, Fishlegs isn't too chatty with the people who matter. He's someone else with his life hovering halfway beyond the fridge, hidden beyond the appearance of normalcy and dreading some idiot marching in and rocking the boat.

"He likes…your legs?" Fishlegs asks, confused as his eyes lose their glimmer suggesting intelligent life.

"Sure. If that's how you want to think about it. That works. Whatever." She runs her hand back through her hair and feels her bangs jut straight into the air, gelled by the sweat she still hasn't had a chance to wash out. She sighs, focusing through the bleary discomfort that she can't blame on anyone. "He likes my legs, and my face, and my perfection. I'm a walking cliché, and I'm so freaking good at it!" She groans at her inability to do anything but win.

She wishes she were losing.

Fishlegs stares at her blankly, entirely aware that he's just heard a bunch of words he never should have. "I—"

"I should go. I'm sure I'll see you around." Her hands are shaking.

Her head's spinning as she shoves her way back through the party, ignoring Scott's drunken antics in the living room. She climbs the stairs to Ruff's room and scares a couple of juniors off of her bed before nearly slamming the door.

How is she going to deal with _this_? Why couldn't Hiccup just keep this simple? Right, because nothing is ever simple for her. She thinks of her big dumb boyfriend partying downstairs and the bed she can't go home to and cringes.

Buried is an understatement.

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"Can I have a four foot?" Hiccup carefully searches through a bucket of wood screws with his clunky cast while he holds his right arm out towards Fishlegs. The bigger boy hands him a length of cedar, leaning forward and helping secure it to the bottom lip of the trebuchet base. "Why so quiet today?" Hiccup asks, his voice muffled against the long screw he's holding his lips.

"Umm. I'm not quiet. Maybe a little hung over." Even his voice is quieter than normal.

"Yes you are, is something up with the girlfriend or something?" Hiccup puts on his most robust voice, the one that says 'I know your lady problems, and I can fix them.'

"No. She's as psycho as always." Fishlegs cracks a smile for the first time that morning, and Hiccup resists the urge to glare at him. It's just not fair, Fishlegs gets a hot psycho girlfriend just because he doesn't have _asthma_ and weighs 300 pounds.

"And that's a good thing?" Hiccup pushes forward, searching for something to talk about. As much as he hates the presumption, he's used to Astrid, and her comparative zeal in actually continuing conversations. He's actually missing her tendency to nearly beat information out of him.

Or maybe he's just missing everything she's turned out to be.

"She's never boring." Fishlegs endorses Ruff proudly, blushing a bit. Hiccup sighs.

"Look at you, living the dream." He's happy for his friend, really, even though it might seem like he's seething with bitter jealousy, he's not. He's only…a little bit bitterly jealous.

"Well, it's not so bad for you." The words are rushed, and Hiccup smells something fishy.

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, you've got…ummm…friends." Hiccup narrows his eyes at his friend.

"You talked to Astrid last night, didn't you? What did she say?" He can't help but remember when either of them talking to Astrid Hofferson would have been a massive occurrence.

"Nothing. She just said she was late because she'd been hanging out with you." He's still talking too fast, and Hiccup sighs.

"She was making fun of me, wasn't she? I knew she couldn't actually be interested in being friends." He misses when being pathetic around Fishlegs didn't make him feel _this_ inferior, but now his best friend is just another guy with a hot girlfriend.

"No, dude, she wasn't making fun of you." Fishlegs admits with a sigh. "I need to tell you something."

"What? How hot your girlfriend is? Because I know that, ok?" Hiccup snaps, and Fishlegs runs rubs his hands together nervously.

"I talked to Astrid last night…and she knows you like her. But I wasn't sure whether it was worth mentioning or not, and the uncertainty has been making me nauseous for the last 11 and a half hours." Fishlegs admits and Hiccup feels dread creep up his spine.

"Oh. So what, in your opinion, does constitute worth mentioning? Discovering a chupacabra?!" Hiccup snaps, fumbling for the screw that he lost track of during his exclamation. "Would it be worth mentioning if you found a dragon crawling around my yard? Or would you let it burn down half the state before addressing your nausea?" His voice cracks and he curses under his breath, clearing his throat.

"No, that's not what I meant." Fishlegs sighs, looking at the floor dramatically. "She was being all weird and started saying how you only like her because she's pretty, and…I guess it was just a weird night for her or something." Scott was there with some other girl and…I don't know. Popular drama." He summarizes, and Hiccup relaxes, frowning.

"Scott was there with another girl?" Asshole.

"Yeah, but he wasn't _there_ with her. When I broke down the situation, she was pretty much just stalking him and he was clueless, as per usual." Fishlegs laughs nasally and Hiccup wants to break everything.

"Scott is an asshole. I hate that guy." Hiccup announces, nailing the next board into place with a grimace.

"He's not so bad, Hiccup. A little dim, and a little narcissistic, but not evil." The smaller boy rolls his eyes.

"He's not good for Astrid."

"Because you'd be better? I don't that ship is boarding…yet." The last word sounds feeble coming out of Fishlegs barrel chest, and Hiccup frowns.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." He drawls, frowning and trying to convince himself that it's a possibility…

Nope. He's not an alpha male type, and his arms can't operate properly on the fulcrum of their own length, so of course he can't get the girl. Even with all of the technology defining almost every aspect of the modern age, biology still dictates his future and approved aspirations.

Math and science remain the only…dependable mistresses.

"Come on, I'm not being a jerk. Astrid's not as easy to pin down as I originally thought. She was being much more human than normal last night, at least 33% less bitchy than normal."

"I know. She's tricky." Hiccup admits bitterly, standing up and adjusting the frame's verticality. "And beautiful, and great, and actually nice to me…sometimes. So of course everything had to get all...confusing."

"She's nice to you?" Fishlegs asks incredulously.

"Sometimes." Hiccup clarifies, as his friend secures the catapult's supports into place.

"Like actually nice?"

"In her way, ok? It's not…the average person's definition of nice. It's different, and more caustic, but I like it." Fishlegs bows his head, ashamed.

"I'm sorry, dude. Sounds like some kind of love." Hiccup sighs, running a hand through his floppy hair.

"I know. Flathead?"

00000

Remarkably, a new kind of normal erupts out of the partial chaos of the past week. Hiccup doesn't know what made him so lucky to not have everything collapse immediately back into lonely normality.

Really though, the actual simple answer remains that Astrid is happier with Hiccup around than she is alone.

The next Sunday morning, far too early for any decent human to be awake, Hiccup's booming doorbell echoes through the hallways. If he waits, they'll go away right?

Less than five minutes later, two twin chimes follow the first, ringing in his brain. He flops out of bed, shuffling his feet across the uncomfortably cold floor and slouching down the stairs. Toothless groans and rolls over, a heavy forearm flopping across his disinterested face. No one would be here if it weren't important…right?

He's wiping the sleep out of his eyes when he swings the door open, looking straight at Astrid who's bright eyed in gym shorts and a Berk high tee-shirt, obviously fresh from a run. He wants to punch her and hug her all at once, and he isn't capable of either.

"Good morning. I figured you weren't busy. Let's go get pancakes, I'm starving." Astrid smiles cheekily, knowing all too well that it's going to get her what she wants, and Hiccup blinks at her blankly.

"I'm busy sleeping." He announces, yawning and scratching his side.

"That doesn't count." Hiccup doesn't respond, just stares blankly at Astrid, who takes a step forward and body checks him with her shoulder, pushing inside. "Plus. I'll make you coffee. Or something." She offers, and he sighs.

"I don't want coffee, I want sleep. It's 9 am on a Sunday." She raises an eyebrow.

"I know what time it is." A few seconds of awkward staring, and Astrid puts on some megawatt gorgeous smile. "Please?" Hiccup sighs.

"Fine. But you better be paying." He shuffles towards the kitchen, already day-dreaming about the strong cup of coffee he's going to concoct.

"Well, where are you going?" Astrid follows beside him, seeming taller for all of her early morning pep.

"I'm going to make some coffee," He pulls the bag of coffee grounds out of the cupboard and shuffles across the kitchen, the entire time dragging his Astrid shadow behind him.

"I said I could make the coffee. Go put on your real pants." Hiccup tugs his flannel pajama pants up with, self-conscious. It's hard not to want to be impressive.

"Why did you come ask me to get pancakes anyway?" He does his best to ignore the order, measuring the coffee grounds into his father's high powered espresso machine. Big man, big coffee maker.

"Because I thought you wouldn't be busy." Astrid sighs. He's moving far too slowly for her taste.

"Sleeping, Astrid. I was sleeping."

"That doesn't count." She announces, crossing her arms and staring Hiccup down. She equally hates and enjoys that he feels comfortable taking an attitude with her. Half of her absolutely loathes being human, while the other half has been silently craving kinship for what feels like centuries.

"Well, why didn't you just ask _Scott_? Shouldn't your _boyfriend_ be getting breakfast with you?" Hiccup spits, and Astrid can't help but raise her eyebrows.

"You're sure _pleasant _in the morning." She takes a step back and leans against the kitchen island with her arms crossed. A week ago, she would have left…but that lacks this argument's appeal somehow. "And what's your problem with Scott anyway? Everyone loves Scott." Right. Everyone. Even her.

"Right, even all those nerds he picks on." That being said, Scott hasn't ever really noticed Hiccup enough to bother him extensively. The only thing worse than being bullied is being ignored by the bully. Hiccup wishes Scott ignored Astrid, she's so…brainwashed when it comes to that brute.

"Come on, when has he even noticed you?" Astrid asks, and Hiccup raises a slightly less groggy eyebrow.

"Such a nice guy." Astrid sighs.

"He's sleeping, ok? We were up late last night." Astrid admits, and Hiccup's stomach falls. He wonders where the bruises are this time.

"So his sleep is important…" Hiccup isn't headed back to bed, he's awake. He wonders if she even registers the irony. She probably does; Astrid loves irony.

"He wouldn't wake up this early." From her tone, like she's explaining something simple to a kindergartner, she doesn't seem to notice.

"Fine. So where are we going for this absolutely necessary pancake breakfast?" He indignantly drops the argument, remembering to be glad that she's here. If he really wants to make a lasting impression, taking her for granted is to be avoided.

Even though sometimes he really doesn't want to answer the door…or pick up the phone…or wake up at 9:00 on a Sunday to go eat pancakes he doesn't even want. Sometimes, it's like

having the demanding girlfriend lucky guys complain about, but without the making out. That and Astrid tends to be smarter and prettier and more brash than other girls, even on her worst day.

She eats more too, and Hiccup's uncharacteristically empty wallet knows all too well. But then again, she's been paying at least half the time, and he's probably gained at least five pounds so he shouldn't complain.

"I don' t care. Somewhere with cheap pancakes." Astrid shrugs, flinching a bit as the shiny coffee maker spurts a flare of steam towards the ceiling.

"Waffle house…Village Inn…Denny's—"She cuts him off with a glare and Hiccup stops short, flushing.

Did he seriously just say that?

"What do you mean by that?" Astrid touches her nose self-consciously, pushing hard enough that the barely there pain in the old bruise flares up, forcing her to hold back tears.

"I didn't mean anything by it, it's just a restaurant—" Hiccup tries to defend himself, and sees the comment bounce off of an unresponsive brick wall. "And now you're not going to answer, that's great." He hides his cast out of habit, wishing it were gone. At least he has a finite date now. Friday, he gets it off Friday.

Gobber is even letting him miss a meet, so it must be happening then.

"I don't get why you'd bring that up Hiccup, just because I didn't wake up Scott…" Or my dad. Astrid thinks to herself. It'd be normal to have Sunday morning breakfast with her dad, if he weren't a ranging maniac. The lack of familial connection crushes her chest and she does her best to disguise a panicked heave.

"Why does Denny's make you think of Scott?" He meant to mumble it, but it rushes out at full volume. Astrid falls silent, her hands falling away from her face and Hiccup backpedals desperately.

The coffee maker finishes clattering, and the smell of black coffee stings Astrid' hypersensitive nose. A bubble of emotion rises in her throat and she can't help but cough out a rough laugh.

"You think Scott is why I was at Denny's?" The laugh collapses into manic giggles and she braces herself against the counter as the last bit of her former sanity fractures around the seams. "Well I mean, he kind of was, in the most minimalist sense of the word."

"I can't watch you be in a relationship like that, Astrid! You ask me to be your friend, then do all this destructive bullshit!" She would remark on Hiccup's bravery, as his voice rises louder than she's ever heard it, more resolutely than she knew it could. But she's falling apart into deranged laughter.

"Relationship like what?" She takes a deep breath, but the giggles continue uninhibited. "Scott couldn't beat up a puppy. He's a big softy, he's afraid of Chihuahuas!" Astrid admits, the laughter mixing with inexplicable tears.

"What?" Hiccup stops in his tracks, biting his lip in confusion.

"Scott couldn't hit anyone. He puts spiders outside." The laughter gives way entirely to silent tears.

"So…" He doesn't know how to act in this situation. Knowing something so entirely and having reality overturned beneath is feet. It's like someone telling him the area of a circle is something other than pi r squared.

"You aren't the only one with a rocky paternal relationship, Hiccup." She laughs through a deceptively pathetic sniffle. "And I'd threaten to end you if you told anyone, but no one would even believe you." She laughs again, wiping slimy tears away from her face with a disgusted hand.

00000

**So…big things revealed. **

**I've been thinking about this reveal for weeks, and I really hope I achieved it as gracefully as I'd hoped, and I hope that you all enjoy it. **

**I've continued to get such amazing reactions for all previous chapters, and I can't thank you all enough. **

**Honestly, this author's note is a bit short, normally I respond to themes in the last chapter's reviews…but believe it or not, I'm a wee bit emotionally exhausted from what I just wrote. Hit close to home in a way that only this story can. **

**Any reviews you feel I deserve are appreciated more than you all could ever know! **


	19. Chapter 19

**Howdy folks, sorry this update took a little longer than the last few! More at the bottom for those who are interested. **

00000

"These are good pancakes." Astrid insists, taking an overly enthusiastic bite of her gigantic 5 stack of chocolate chip magic. Hiccup stares, unwavering and ignoring his side of buttermilk flapjacks.

How she's even hungry is beyond him.

"So I'm not getting an explanation or anything?" She has whipped cream on her lip and her eyes are still red from crying during the 20 minutes of awkward silence on the way to IHOP.

"What's there to explain, Hiccup? Your dad isn't ever around and hates that your scrawny, and my dad is more…disapproving of my…me than most." She sniffs and stuffs another mouthful of pancakes into her mouth, reaching across the table to grab the boysenberry syrup from Hiccup's side, drenching her plate with the purple sugar.

"Astrid, this couldn't be more different from whatever my dad does." He can't imagine his father laying a finger on him, no matter how gruff the man has been these past few years.

"It's parental issues. That's all it is." She looks equal parts fierce and defeated and the familiarity of the disinterested gleam in her eyes is heart breaking.

"You know that's sugarcoating it." For once it looks like stern isn't the right tone of voice to take with the girl in front of him as she sighs and stares back down on her disappearing pancakes. She's bridging that line between majestic and crumbling, and Hiccup leans forward, so he can speak quietly. "I'm just trying to help, Astrid."

"I don't want your help." She snaps, ferocity back in remarkable force.

"What am I supposed to do? Just sit back and—"

"If you were to report this, the police would get involved. There's evidence everywhere, one x-ray and I'm pretty sure the hospital would find at least 4 defensive fractures I haven't reported. Let alone the psychological evaluation." She's so logical and coldly detached that Hiccup is quieted, equally awed and disgusted. "I'm only seventeen." Astrid says with self-loathing Hiccup didn't know she could radiate. "They would take me away, and place me in foster care. I have no money, I run 65 mile weeks and am a straight A student. I don't have time for a job, and my only shot at college far far away from here is a cross country scholarship. I have to stay right where I am, and get that gilded acceptance letter from UC San Diego."

"I take it you've thought through this a couple times." The sarcasm seems out of place, but Astrid cracks an exhausted smile.

"A couple."

"How do you know I'm not going to tell anyway?" He wants to. He's never wanted so badly to admit something. The police could be at her house in five minutes.

"I don't." She sighs, wiping her forehead with the back of her fist. "But you trusted me with a secret…and I kept my promise." Astrid knows she could never turn in Toothless, and that realization makes her feel equal parts pious and reformed. It's a wonderful, sad, vulnerable feeling that she attempts to drown with syrup.

"Somehow this doesn't seem like blackmail. What's the catch?" Hiccup can't help but fear for his wolf, and all of the kinship and normalcy the dog provides.

"No catch, Hiccup." Astrid takes another bite, beyond exhausted. He can't help but smirk.

"I was right all along." She raises an eyebrow, torn between being glad for his unabashedly wry expression and really needing a hug.

"Huh?"

"You aren't a bitch." Astrid snickers.

"Depends on the vantage point, I guess." Hiccup grits his teeth, forcing himself not to stutter as utter honestly pours forth.

"From mine, all I see is a bullied girl who doesn't deserve it. No bitch in sight." A silent tear sneaks out of the corner of Astrid's eye and she glares daggers at Hiccup.

"You're not allowed to say stuff like that." Hiccup holds his hands up in surrender, taking a small bite of his pancakes.

"Pancakes were a good idea." He relents, taking a slightly larger bite, while surveying Astrid as discreetly as he can out of the corner of his eye. She purses her lips, obviously deep in thought, licking melted chocolate off of her fork. It takes a moment for her attention to come back to him, and when it does she slaps that familiar glare back onto her face.

"What?" Hiccup shrugs.

"Nothing."

"Why are you looking at me like I'm about to explode?" She stomps under the table, hating how her temper makes her sound like an insolent child.

"Because I'm afraid that you are." Hiccup answers honestly, reaching across the table and reclaiming his berry syrup.

"I'm not going to explode. It's not like this is new for me." Astrid insists she's fine, pushing back against the prickly heat welling up behind her eyes. She hates how more than anything, someone caring about her is pushing her over the edge.

"That's not exactly comforting, Astrid."

"Well, I don't care." She insists, crossing her arms and pushing her empty plate away towards the edge of the table. "I've been dealing with this by myself, and I don't even know why I—" The waitress comes by to pick up the plate and Astrid goes silent, glaring in her direction until she leaves before continuing her sentence, "told you. I guess I couldn't take you tattling on Scott for no reason."

"I've thought that for weeks, and I haven't said anything. What makes you think I'd tattle now?"

"I don't know. You're naïve and can't handle the world's fundamental injustices." Astrid accuses and Hiccup lets out a dry laugh.

"You know, I could have pressed charges for this," Hiccup holds up his cast, and she averts her eyes, "but I didn't."

"And I've said sorry for that." The pit of guilt in her stomach makes her nauseous, and the overly sweet chocolate tickles at the back of her throat.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, Astrid." Hiccup exhales, embarrassed at what he's about to say, but seeing that Astrid needs the assurance, and hoping that she doesn't need to goad him. "Look, you've been pretty much the most reliable friend I've ever had. You actually show up when you say you will, you don't ignore everything to make goo goo eyes at your boyfriend, and Toothless likes you. My life gets significantly worse if anything happens to you," admitting his embarrassingly strong connection to Astrid makes his heart race, and he fumbles with the inhaler in his pocket, "and if you decide that you _want_ anyone to back you up, I'm volunteering."

Astrid wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and groans quietly, like she's mourning something long lost and painful, and Hiccup averts his eyes.

"It's been years since I had any real backup." Astrid admits, leaning her forehead down against the greasy table. Who cares if she gets a zit? A weight slips off of her chest with a silent oomph, and she takes the deepest breath she can remember.

She doesn't know what she's doing, as words start gurgling out like water.

"Looking back, it's not my mom's fault, he was worse to her than he is to me, but I was only 10 when she left. She shouldn't have left me with him." Her throat seems to close and she nearly gags on the emotion as she forces the tears back. "Things used to be ok, really. He quit drinking, he was hoping it would make her come back."

Hiccup doesn't know what to say, all of his family's petty drama pales in comparison.

"Then I was twelve when we got the call." Astrid sits up, hugging herself around the ribs and avoiding eye contact the best that she can. "She wasn't coming back. Car accident, nothing out of the ordinary."

Silence.

"Astrid…I don't know what to say." She smiles, the tears falling down her cheeks warping towards the edges of her jaw.

"There's nothing to say, I shouldn't even be saying any of this." But it's all out now, and there's no taking it back. She feels lighter than ever, and can't bring herself to care that the waitress can see her crying. They probably think something mundane of the two teenagers in the booth. Maybe Hiccup is breaking up with her.

Or maybe her dog was hit by a car.

"I won't tell anyone." Hiccup repeats, and he won't tell. That's a story that's earned, not given away.

"I know you won't." Astrid picks up a dessert menu, suddenly ravenous again. "Do you have any interest in a brownie sundae?" Hiccup furrows his brow, confused.

"No…"

"Good, because I'm not sharing."

00000

"Where were you last night?" Scott asks on the next Tuesday afternoon, sounding clingy in a way that makes Astrid's fists clench.

"I was working on my stupid mythology project." Astrid examines her fingernails, refusing to meet her boyfriend's eyes. She tore the edge of her ring fingernail on Spike's collar yesterday at the shelter after school. They did study physics though, if she can manage to pull an A on this next physics test, she still has a shot at an A in the class.

"That's like, all you do lately." He pouts, crossing his rippling arms. The SUV is too small, she can smell his unwashed football uniform in the back seat, its stench winding around her shoulders like a cape.

"It's a big project." The lie sounds hollow, even to her, it only took half an hour for them to get all their major points down on paper. She sighs, rubbing the heel of her hands into her itchy eyes. She's got to get to bed earlier tonight, it feels like someone rubbed her face in a sandbox. "And Hiccup has been studying physics with me, I didn't do so stellar on my test." Astrid admits stiffly, and Scott shakes his head and smirks.

"What? You get a ninety one or something?" She doesn't appreciate his snark. Snark is not his job.

"Something like that." She sighs, have things with Scott always been this quiet? No, she remembers having things to talk about, school and getting their licenses and all those other exciting but fleeting things. Now they're false adults, left with nothing but the physical misinterpretation of maturity.

God she's sounding more cynical every day, as if hanging out with Hiccup wasn't trashing her reputation enough. She shoves her happy face back on.

She sighs. The best boyfriends aren't always the best, or most interesting, people.

"I just don't get why you're spending so much time with that kid, Astrid. He's like…I bet he can't even bench the bar." Scott announces with a snicker, obviously disappointed when Astrid doesn't join in. She used to think he was funnier.

"Not everyone can be a goliath like you, Scott." Of course _that_ would be his problem with Hiccup. Not his love of math, or his insanely rich dad, or even the fact that he's spending a lot of time with another guy's girlfriend.

His tiny biceps, what a crime.

"Astrid we aren't talking about the bible. We're talking about your new best friend, the nerd." Astrid blinks slowly, her brain desperately trying to shove the rose goggles of young love back over her vision.

She sighs, and bites her fingernail, trying to even out the ragged edge. At least the meet on Friday isn't a league meet, no reporters to see her admittedly less than perfect presentation.

"Think about it this way. If everyone were huge and muscled like you, then you wouldn't seem so strong." Scott's eyes go wide and he grins.

"Whoa, that's why you're the brains here, babe. I've never thought of it that way before." She smiles as he wraps his tree trunk arm around her shoulders. She does miss being the sole brain of the operation sometimes, it makes her feel deserving.

"Just doing my job." The mild glow of contented victory settles, and Astrid feels shockingly safe and comfortable tucked into her boyfriend's arm.

"So maybe I should meet this guy," Scott sounds way too happy about his _genius_ idea, and the momentary serenity crumbles.

"No, you are not going to cause some bicep comparing spectacle." Astrid sits up straight and cracks her door open. It's almost time for practice anyway.

"Jeez Astrid, I wasn't going to." Scott's face falls, and that sour heavy pit of guilt she's only ever associated with Hiccup settles in her stomach. "I was thinking if I asked him to hang out too, then maybe you couldn't ditch me. Again."

"Sure." Astrid concedes, her voice uncharacteristically meek and quiet. "What would you want to do?"

"We could go to Applebee's after my game on Friday. No party this week. I guess everyone's parents wanted to be here for the homecoming game or something." Astrid feels a burst of panic in her chest.

"It's homecoming already?" She counts on her fingers, trying to figure out where her time disappeared. Right, the underbelly of an animal shelter, and a couch in a regal mountain home.

"Yeah, October 10th. Come on you've known that since summer." Scott is obviously not immune to the pleasure of knowing something that she doesn't.

"I guess. Shit, I don't even have a dress yet." Or shoes.

Or money.

"Just wear your red one with the thing from last year." He gestures towards his shoulder, remembering an embellishment from her previous dress. He's cluelessly helpful and Astrid glares daggers at him.

"I can't do that! I won Homecoming Queen last year, everyone will recognize it."

"Fine then. Ruff's problem, not mine." Scott clunkily dodges her panicky wrath. "Anyway, you, me, and the nerd on Friday? Eatin' good in the neighborhood?" Astrid pulls her attention to Scott long enough to look simultaneously confused and irritated. "It's their slogan? 'Eatin' good in the neighborhood', "Scott sings, oblivious. "You know, like the Applebee's commercials?"

"Scott, I can't even afford the dress I have to buy, how am I supposed to afford dinner?"

"I'll pay." Scott offers, but Astrid is already riled, red in the face and vicious.

"They don't accept steroids as currency at Applebee's," She retorts.

"I'll ask my dad for money," Scott submits quietly, and Astrid exhales, momentarily mollified.

"Ok." She puts her anxious expression back together into a mask of perceived perfection. "We'll drive to your game after my meet."

"Sounds good."

"Well…I've got to get to practice." Astrid nearly stumbles out of the car, escaping the awkward tension.

"Ok. Me too." She can't help but glance back as Scott stretches, a strip of tawny six-pack peeking out from under his tee-shirt.

00000

"6:20" Hiccup calls out as Astrid crosses the finish line of her fourth mile in this particularly grueling workout. She stretches into a loping walk, chest heaving, and spreads her elbows wide with her palms on top of her head, opening her lungs.

Two more. She can do two more. Her stomach protests as she sips on her water, rolling her ankles and pacing with measured steps.

"How long?" Astrid steps up beside Hiccup, peeking over at the blue stopwatch resting on his plaster coated hand and counting down from two minutes. He glances down at it, making sense of the twitching digital number faster than her endorphin addled mind can.

"Looks like 37…36 seconds." She nods, resting a clammy palm on Hiccup's skinny shoulder as she focuses on getting her breathing under control. Hiccup stiffens slightly at the unexpected contact, but when the expected rush of pain doesn't flood through him, he relaxes, warmth blooming in his ribcage.

Completely friendship warmth. Totally.

"Ten seconds," He warns, and she pushes off of his shoulder with her ever-surprising amount of force and saunters out onto the track. She pitches forward slightly, securing her toes against the red clay and glancing at Hiccup with her peripherals. "Aaand…go." He presses the reset button on the stopwatch with a click, watching the numbers shoot up to twenty before glancing down the track at Astrid.

She's rounding the first corner, blonde ponytail bobbing in the breeze, legs pounding, dodging around slower runners cooling down. He can't believe all that she told him sometimes.

It's like relativity. The first time you hear about the perplexing drama of space in time, rejecting it seems like the only way to keep the ground knitted together below your feet. But then as the idea sinks in, it becomes possible…and eventually you accept it. Your world is fundamentally changed forever, yet somehow, everything goes on nearly as normal.

The sky is blue and time is relative to velocity.

And Astrid Hofferson comes from an abusive home.

It's just another one of those facts that you can't help but come back to, repeating it until even the words seem unreal.

Fishlegs has a hot girlfriend, and Astrid's dad beats her.

Scott Nout got in to college, and Astrid's mom abandoned her.

All that happened, and she's still some version of alright.

She thunders past, smiling slightly to herself as Hiccup shouts, "1:29." He shakes his head, unable to restrain a smile. Her happiness remains as infectious as ever.

She rounds her final corner a few minutes later, sweaty and breathless as she through.

"6:19" Hiccup whistles lowly, "You do remember that Gobber said a 6:40 pace on these, right?" He glances at the white athletic tape around her knee, but miraculously all seems well.

"6:40 my ass," She gasps, shakily leaning down for her water bottle. Hiccup forces himself not to examine the way her shorts ride up her creamy inner thigh when she bends over. He stares intently at the stopwatch as she wipes her face with her already sopping white tee shirt. The action leaves one tan and two twin black smears of makeup across her stomach. Her tan damp skin glows against the cosmetic veneer still sticking to her cheeks.

"Yeah, yeah. Save it for Addenbrook." Hiccup says, talking about the meet on Friday.

"I've got plenty." Astrid assures, stretching her quads. "Speaking of saving it, why didn't you remind me about Homecoming this Saturday?" She asks, indignant, and Hiccup laughs.

"Right, because I know all about high school dances." He snarks, rolling his eyes. "News to me, Astrid."

"Well, I totally forgot." Astrid pouts, facing her own forgetfulness.

"Didn't Scott like ask you or whatever?" Don't sound jealous. Don't sound jealous.

"Well no, he's my boyfriend. It's implies," She snaps. Astrid doesn't need Scott to bring her flowers or plan some stupidly elaborate way of asking her to do something she would've done anyway. That's for needy, self-conscious girls.

"Fishlegs asked Ruffnut. He made me help him bake cupcakes." The burn on Hiccup's thumb from his stupid oven still smarts.

"So?" Astrid hates how defensive she sounds, shrugging so sharply she almost shoulders herself in the ear.

Hiccup shrugs, "Just saying. They've only been dating a month though. I guess it's still all exciting."

"Scott and I are still plenty exciting, Hiccup." Astrid lies. Even she knows it's lying, and the only thing that makes her sound remotely honest is remembering that glimpse of attraction before practice.

"10 seconds." Hiccup does his best not to notice the uncouth belligerence in her voice. She traipses out onto the track for her last mile, waiting for his signal before charging off as she did before.

Hiccup is going to set a new personal record on Saturday. Four consecutive homecomings without his attendance, it's kind of a big deal. Although this is the first year he's glad he's not going.

That urge to ask someone, anyone, to nobly dispose of his completely fruitless crush on Astrid Hofferson has plagued him every other year, but he could never get himself to do it. It never seemed genuine, always seemed like he was trying to convince himself of something.

This year though? This year he's so excited to sit at home with Toothless and not have to watch Astrid make googly eyes at her idiot boyfriend. He'll even have his cast off by then, so working on the catapult alone will be in the cards.

Part of him resents Fishlegs for breaking their dance avoidance pact, but mostly he's happy for his friend. Someone should at least get to feign normalcy.

"4:53," Hiccup shouts as Astrid finishes her third lap, accelerating into her final one. Her limp is a little more pronounced now, more of a suggestion of pain than an exhibition, and he hopes she didn't overdue it.

His legs subconsciously tense in anticipation as he turns to watch her round that last corner. There's something exhilarating about even watching a kick like Astrid's, and his heart rate quickens along with her lengthening strides.

She's always right on time, always accelerating through the finish line with increasingly fleet footfalls.

He wonders if running so fast alters her perception of time, making all that she's gone through pass faster. He wonders what runs through her head, as he feet pound against the ground, if it's as blissfully silent as he hopes it could be.

Or does the pain make minutes pass slower? Stretching the last few months of high school into eons.

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**Woo. So…this chapter really involved linking the story back into real time, mostly for my sake so I can get back on track with the timeline I have planned. **

**Also the big reveal, then skipping a week of narration to be able to show a new level of comfort and friendship between our two main characters. **

**Good stuff.**

**So. FYI, I feel like you guys have the right to know, because whenever I get stressed out of my mind, y'all seem to get the short end of the stick. **

**Personal life Bulletin: **

**I'm working an engineering internship for the summer, 40 hour weeks with an hour commute each way. It's pretty cool, at an energy company, and I'm learning a lot…but after 8 hours of writing proposals and synopses, I'm not really feeling too creative. I'm working my hardest…but I feel a little creatively stunted lol.**

**Also…as soon as my life gets put back together, it crumbles right back apart, right? My family has plummeted into financial doomsday as of the last few weeks, everything is falling apart. I'm about to have a horse on my dollar, or lose my best friend of 8 years, and I'm taking a full course load next semester…**

**But I'm here, and I'm excited about everything that this story is, and where it's going. So don't count me out! **

**If you feel I'm worth it drop a review! I can't get over the lovely support I keep getting for this story, and I hope I continue to deserve it! **

**Thanks!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Ok…you guys are going to laugh at me…but I really wanted to make 1000 reviews on chapter 20, because I find that mathematically beautiful. And I just so happened to have a complete brain blast…and well…Christmas came early? **

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"6:22," Hiccup calls out, putting on a jokingly grand announcer voice as Astrid finishes her last mile, looking positively green. "And the crowd goes wild!" He mimes cheering fans, which Astrid probably actually has, and she slows with a breathless smile. She wipes her face with back of her hand and clamors for her water with trembling hands.

"Slower…" She chugs the water now, not bothering to sip. "That one was slower."

"It was your sixth one, I think slower is expected." He shakes his head at her unreasonable determination. "Plus, state's only a 5k, and your third was 6:15. Actually you ran negative splits on the first three." Hiccup does the quick math, the arithmetic ticking through his brain like a typewriter. "Actually, you ran about a 20:30, and that's your fastest workout yet." She smiles.

"20:30, eh?" She pops a hip, dramatically stroking her chin. "I guess I can live with that."

"Live with it?" Hiccup laughs, "You're exhausting." He can't imagine what it would be like inside her head. It probably makes his personal stew of unfulfilled expectations seem like a beach vacation.

"That's what it takes Haddock." She flaunts jokingly. "I've got to go put in a mile cool down, but don't go anywhere, I have to talk to you about something when I get back." It sounds like a suggestion, but Hiccup knows it's a veiled order and he smiles and shrugs his consent. She gestures at him to stay as she starts to jog down the football field. "Give me ten!" She shouts back, flicking her eyes to her watch.

Hiccup sits down on the grass, immediately cringing when the damp grass soaks through the back of his jeans. He wonders if this is how Toothless feels when he leaves during the day, and frowns at the comparison.

At least she smiles with him now, not at him. He leans back onto his good arm, not caring about soaking his back. She wants to talk to him about something, which could be interesting to say the least.

Worst case scenario: She was smiling, so it's probably not too bad. She could be leaving him to be pranked by the football team or something, but they're at a team meeting at their coach's house anyway. It could be something stupid like her needing a ride, but that's no big deal.

Now the best case scenario…he's not going to get into that. Plus, she and Scott were looking awfully lovey dovey earlier. Plus, homecoming and all.

Maybe thinking about the best case scenario is better than thinking about thinking about Astrid and Scott. It's almost worse knowing that Scott isn't a monster, because he's forced to acknowledge the lack of no mind games in the relationship. Astrid is with that jock because she wants to be, and that's practically a diamond saw to the chest.

But then again, she's not with Scott most of the time. She's spend nearly every evening for the last week on _his_ couch, hunkered down with a laptop and typing shockingly astute passages for their mythology paper. It's actually giving him time to work on the presentation, and as ridiculous as it sounds, he's got some legitimately cool graphics programmed.

At least they know they'll get an A at this point, and that's as relieving as the fact Astrid might keep talking to him after the end of the semester.

Well, half as relieving.

He's working through some of the math homework he has to get done that night in his head when the sunny world behind his eyelids darkens. He opens his right eye a crack and sees Astrid staring down at him, foot tapping idly.

"Awake?" She asks lightly, offering a hand to pull Hiccup up. He chokes back a squeak as she inelegantly hauls him to his feet. His shoulder aches from the force, but he's too focused on not yelping like a little girl to really take much notice.

"So you wanted to talk to me about something?" Please be best case scenario. But not weird. Somehow.

"Oh, right. Yeah…umm, so Scott wants to take us to Applebee's after the game on Friday." Astrid says, and Hiccup draws a comprehensive blank. A neural blue screen of death blinks behind his eyes like a hazard light on a lonely road.

"What?"

"I don't know. He wants to take both of us to Applebee's."

"Me? Like he actually mentioned me by name?" Hiccup tries to make sure Scott didn't mean Fishlegs. Or Morgan Freeman. Anyone more relevant to the football player than himself.

"Well. He actually called you both 'nerd boy' and 'that nerdy guy you always hang out with'," Astrid clarifies and Hiccup rolls his eyes, crossing his arms self-consciously.

"Charming."

"Come on. I think he's actually trying here, it's not like it's a big deal." Astrid says unconvincingly, and Hiccup narrows his eyes, inexplicably drawn to the chink in the power couple's armor.

"Are you implying he doesn't normally try?" Astrid stomps, exasperated.

"It's free food." She dodges the question, then forces her jaw to relax, bringing her palms together. She pastes on her most angelic smile, "Please? Just do it?" Hiccup knits his eyebrows together and strokes his chin, drawing out the experience.

"You're saying please? I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do with this kind of power…" Astrid snarls, crossing her arms. "Ok, ok. One condition."

"What?" She snips, wondering why she ever liked his freaking tendency towards _independent _thought in the first place.

"I get the cast off on Thursday," Hiccup shrugs, "I need a ride."

"Why do you need a ride?"

"I don't like the whole dremel tool two millimeters from my skin thing, so I'm using up a painkiller for the experience." Hiccup admits, shuddering. If they slipped, they could take off a thumb, or something.

"Fine. I'll take you to the doctor." Astrid smiles. "Are you at least funny on painkillers?"

"Guess you'll find out." Hiccup shrugs, trying to restrain a grin that he can just feel would be goofy. It's at least 30 seconds before Astrid furrows her eyebrows, her grin slipping as she takes a step back, looking confused.

"Umm. Ok, I'll see you later. I've got to go find Ruff." She says mysteriously, waving half-heartedly and nearly slouching up the hill away from him. Hiccup's own grin dies within his chest.

Was he speaking Chinese? Not even physics makes Astrid that…perplexed.

Perplexing, not exactly encouraging.

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"At least you're skinny, there's something left in your size." Ruff looks uncharacteristically on the bright side, holding up a puddle of purple ruffles masquerading as a dress.

"If by something you mean four hideous abominations, then I agree." Astrid kicks digging through the racks, looking for anything in a color that she doesn't recognize from the apparently designer puke palette.

"Not time for you to be depressing. I have enough to worry about without taking you emergency shopping, you know." The taller girl says it with a smile and Astrid finds the decency to look grateful.

"Time just got away from me, you know?" A black dress looks promising until Astrid sees the ungainly drop waist. She's short enough as is. "Too many AP's."

"You can say that again." Ruff scans the room, hand on her hip. "Ok. You're just going to have to listen to me. This is going to take hours with your opinion getting in the way." She announces and Astrid frowns, indignant.

"Gee, thanks."

"Thank me when you're beautiful." Ruff points a finger towards the dressing room. "Go."

Most of the time, shopping with Ruff is fun, if only in a girly and temporary way, but this hopeless panic is miserable. It's an hour before they find anything that doesn't make Astrid look like a complete loser. Even then their breakthrough is an aqua satin dress that Ruff miraculously found tangled around the wheels of one of those rolling display carts.

Astrid sighs in relief as she pulls it over her head, because it fits and it's not hideous.

"Ruff? It's not horrible!" She announces, opening the dressing room door and stepping out into the hallway. The fabric has severe wrinkles from its entanglement, but it's nothing a little steam won't fix. The taller girl appraises the dress, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "What?" Astrid asks, feeling awkward after a minute of silent observation.

"Of course the first not hideous dress would look great on you. Freak." Astrid laughs to herself, flooded with relief.

"So, I'm going for it, I'm done shopping." Astrid steps back towards the dressing room, only to be startled by Ruff's sudden shout.

"No! I was halfway through freeing another prospect. You're going to try it on." She doesn't know whether it's exhaustion or gratitude that makes her obediently wait for the next option.

A sense of déjà vu clouds her mind as Ruffnut hands her the next dress, an emerald green replica of the dress she just tried. Blue and green. The two stand in relief on their dual hangers, hanging on the back of the dressing room door. The blue one is a little beat up, wrinkles crisscrossing its skirt, and the green one looks like everyone who tried it on was a little rough on it. Like no one gave it half a chance.

She doesn't feel the connection to blue that she once did. The fierce clinging to familiarity that she used to orbit around.

"What the hell, I'll go with the green one." Astrid smiles at the decision. Then again, pushing forward is way more in her nature than floating has ever been.

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"So why are we taking my car?" Astrid asks Hiccup as they slide into the front seats of her sedan. She's already in a bad mood, this errand to his doctor cut her practice short and she's still miraculously needs to get in 3 more miles.

"Because if you drive like you run, I don't want you driving my car." Hiccup jokes, sighing nervously. Astrid's fury dies down slightly.

"You know, they take casts off all the time. It's not a big deal." Reassuring words sound fake and terse coming out of her mouth, and it actually bothers her.

"For them maybe." Hiccup fumbles for one of his final painkillers, popping it into his mouth and swallowing the chalky chunk with an embarrassingly large bob of his Adam's apple.

"For anyone." She shrugs. "I mean, I broke my wrist as a kid, and we took the cast off in the garage with a plaster saw." Hiccup shudders. "You know, if you don't like my bedside manner, you should have asked someone else to take you." She's glad that there's a legitimate reason to focus on the road instead of Hiccup's pale face as she pulls out onto the highway.

"I've never been in your car before." His bad hand is tucked beside him, as he forces his brain to ignore it.

"It's just a car. Yours is nicer." She shrugs, not so secretly jealous of his four wheel drive capabilities. All of the escapes she could make.

"Who bought you your car?" He asks, almost belligerent. Astrid grits her teeth, blaming it on the painkillers to spare Hiccup's face. And her knuckles.

"My dad bought me my car."

"Why?" She knew he'd be curious at some point. She was hoping to delay it, or squelch it…or something. Then again, she doesn't exactly have experience in being dealt with like a sick puppy.

"Because I won regionals when I was fifteen. So he bought me a car." She minces her words like they hurt.

"You had to win regionals to get a car?"

"No. But it probably won me a nicer car." She admits, trying her best to internalize her anger. It's not going to get anyone anywhere if she starts yelling like a banshee.

"How are things, umm…by the way?" Hiccup asks timidly, unknowingly placing a death wish. Astrid grits her teeth and merges sharply, the thunk of his shoulder against the passenger door a cruel relief.

"As fine as ever." Astrid growls, missing the time when a glare could silence the boy next to her. Then again, she probably wouldn't be able to sustain or tolerate, let alone _enjoy_, a friendship with anyone less boar-headed than herself.

And stubbornness? Hiccup has that in droves.

"So…" The gentle probe makes Astrid roll her eyes.

"You really want to know?" The habitual lock up of her tongue nearly stops her, but it is overpowered by the hatred of her own irrelevant fear as she forces out the first few words. She's done being _afraid_. "I tiptoe, like always. He works sixty hour weeks, and drinks 40's, like always. I'm out as late as I can be, and I stay out of corners." She's shocked by her own blissfully matter of fact tone. It appears that years in the public peripheral spotlight have perfected a straight face.

"Sounds about like my place. Minus the drinking, that's for business only." Hiccup laughs sarcastically, " Except I have my own wing to hide in."

"Yeah, Ritchie Rich. I wouldn't complain." Hiccup has a matter of fact tone about the whole situation that makes Astrid glad that she told him. She, of course, can see his discomfort, but anyone else would have run off to the authorities to try and _save_ her.

She's not a damsel, she can save herself. It's just going to take some forged communication with a college scout.

"Oh, I'm not." And it's true, and Astrid likes trusting someone's words at face value. Simple is like fresh air after a life full of complicated.

The silence is nearly comfortable as Astrid lets her leaded foot propel them across town in the left lane of the highway. Hiccup looks pharmaceutically relaxed in the passenger seat as he idly scrapes a ragged fingernail against the rough fiberglass tape of his cast.

The monstrosity still only has one signature, Fishlegs' untidy scrawl, and it makes Astrid simultaneously happy and miserable. Happy that her…less than graceful moment of temper didn't evolve into some sort of tragic monument, but sad because it looks so lonely.

She realizes how little she knows about the boy in her car, and frown at the inequality. Hiccup could probably write a novella on her high school fame by this point, and she doesn't even know his favorite color. She knows more about his dog, whose favorite things lay about her mind brightening dark corners like mag-lites.

"How old are you, Hiccup?" She asks with a sidelong glance at his boyish features. Has he always had that red brown shadow along his jaw? That familiar tightening in his chest that comes from actually taking him in rushes through her and she lets out a shallow exhale.

Scott's good looking, there's no denying that. As far as desirability goes, he's off the charts, but he sure doesn't captivate like unconventional, goofy handsome. She looks away as quickly as she can, clearing her throat. It's natural, right? He likes her, and she likes that.

"Huh?" He's thrown by her simple question, obviously a little slower than normal. "Like age?" Why would Astrid be wondering that, of all things?

"No, like eons." She laughs to herself at the dumb joke, "Yeah age."

"18 next month." Hiccup answers, feeling too young for the number. She purses her lips, he's older than her. Everyone's always older than her, and she hates being behind. She acknowledges her pathological need to get ahead, and the inherent disadvantage of being born early.

"Where do you want to go to college?" She muses out loud, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

"What's with the ninth degree?"

"You need distraction," Dr. Astrid sternly prescribes. "Just answer."

"Anywhere I'm not pre-law," Hiccup shudders, "But I'm thinking School of Mines, over in Golden. Maybe I can figure out what to do with Toothless if I can commute from home or something."

"I figured you'd want to leave," Astrid admits. "Get somewhere away from…family." She clumsily avoids the word 'reputation.'

"Toothless is family." There's a respect demanding aura that seems to settle into place whenever Hiccup talks about the wolf. Astrid wishes she were _that_ sure about anything, and his confidence makes her listen, like the secret of resolution could be aurally transplanted.

"What do you want to major in?" Engineering school…Astrid has to wonder what sort of drive makes a person willingly submit themselves to that much math.

"Um, Metallurgical Engineering." He says with a shrug and Astrid laughs.

"That's a thing?" It sounds both ultra-modern and archaic, like a blacksmith on a space station or something.

"Yes it's a thing." He barks defensively, and Astrid finds herself quieting. Maybe her subconscious is more empathic than she'd feared.

"I'm not making fun of you." Astrid says plainly.

"Oh."

"You don't talk about yourself much, do you?" Shyness is more of a black box than ever, and Astrid resists the urge to bash her head against it. If she wrenches it open, she could damage what's inside, and that feels oddly reprehensible.

"I'm not the wunderkind with a special interest in the sports section on a monthly basis."

"Doesn't mean you're not interesting." She shrugs, nonchalant. "Favorite…color?"

"Green?"

"Is that a question?" She jokes. Astrid doesn't think she's seen the cheery girl in the rear view in years, but she sure missed her bright eyes.

"No. My final answer is green." Hiccup laughs, forgetting to be tense as the hospital appears around a turn in the road.

"Building 7 you said?" She asks a moment later as she turns right into the congested hospital complex, filled with wheelchairs and slow bumps. Her car jolts over a pothole and someone talking on a cell phone glares at them from the sidewalk. Astrid resists the urge to stick her tongue out at them.

Hiccup nods, "Yup, building 7." It only takes a minute to find decent parking and Hiccup twiddles bone pale fingers in his lap. "You coming in?"

"Do you want me to?" Astrid asks with a shrug. His uneasiness is contagious and she shifts in her seat.

"I need a legal witness," Hiccup utters, serious, "In case they actually amputate."

"I'll bring my camera." Astrid assures, climbing out of the car.

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The mud is good. Hiccup really might keep the mud splatter splashed up his left hand and lower arm. It mars the ghostly pale spindly limb, a vestige of six weeks in a cast out of the sun. He clenches and unclenches his fingers, watching tendons stand out in stark relief on the back of his hand and feeling normal. Dirt crumbles off of his hand and onto the ground in a fine rain.

From a spectator, Addenbrook definitely takes the cake as the best race. It's definitely the funniest, as the final mile weaves in and out of a creek, forcing runners to cross the knee deep muck four times. At least fifty people fell this year, including Astrid, who plunged face first into the last crossing . She sprinted to a winning finish with muddy water flinging from her arms like wings.

However, as if her soaking transparent uniform wasn't hard enough to ignore, she immediately whips off her shirt, dramatically wiping her face clean and wringing out the fabric with laughing distress. He takes in her soaked red sports bra out of the corner of his eye, internally kicking himself for…reasons.

Reasons that he can't make into words when Astrid Hofferson is running around in a sports bra.

Shockingly, Astrid goes along when the filthiness turns into tradition, and all the winners paint tribal mud patterns on their face to deliver cameos to a TV crew.

It seems like hours until the last girl splashes her way to the finish line and the park's locker rooms overflow with Berk high athletes scrambling for a shower before carpooling over to the homecoming game.

Hiccup is idly waiting on a low wall near the parking lot, feeling like he's going to get blamed for peeping into the women's room or something when Gobber marches over, tottering and giddy on his metal leg.

"'Enry! I wanted te ask ye sometin' about the dogs!" Hiccup shoots the older man the boldest glare that he dares. No one knows about that and the last thing his nerdy reputation needs is the addition of a sappy animal lover title.

"What?"

"Can ye run up an' feed 'em? Yer dad asked fer a ride back te the airport." Huh, Hiccup hadn't even known his dad was in town. He's glad it's a nice day and Toothless is out wandering his back forty.

"Back to the airport?" He furrows his brow, equal parts concerned and inexplicably slighted.

"Aye, he was going to try an' make the game, but something came up." A rush of inadequacy-induced rage wells in Hiccup's chest as he pushes to his feet.

"I can't, I have plans tonight." Gobber stares steadily at the boy, then grins slightly, the waning sunlight bouncing off of his pewter bottom tooth.

"Well, he did say 'e could rent a car." Hiccup restrains a smile. That's probably only 'no' that Gobber will ever let him get away with…then again, he might be spending Monday's practice shoving mats around the gym again. "But yer workin' tomorrow, no getting' outta tha'." The tinge of respect vanishes from the older man's visage faster than Hiccup can detect it in the first place.

"Yes, sir." No matter how hard he tries, Hiccup can never get the latter word out without sarcasm tingeing his sincerity.

"Come on!" Astrid's distinctive impatience echoes over Hiccup's shoulder, and Gobber looks at him knowingly. A stony expression freezes on the young man's face as he betrays no emotion.

"Go on, ye lazy kid." Hiccup smiles at the pseudo-insult and walks towards the already leaving Astrid.

By the time he catches up to her, she's already tugging impatiently at the passenger door of his car, weighed down by the heavy gym bag over her shoulder. She's freshly showered, her wet hair braided and leaving a soaking circle on the back of her light blue Berk High Jersey. Hiccup can't help but notice the 'Nout' emblazoned across the shoulders with thick black letters.

He taps the unlock button on his key fob and climbs into the front seat, habitually cradling his left arm to his chest as he buckles his seatbelt. Astrid lithely slides in next to him, a blue cloth bag unzipped on her lap. She pulls out a bottle of creamy tan liquid and starts obsessively dabbing in on her face, eyes trained on the mirror on the passenger sun visor.

Hiccup shakes his head and pulls carefully out of the parking lot. The car bounces as gravel gives way to asphalt and Astrid shoots the driver a glare.

"Do you want me to poke and eye out?" She smoothes away the golden freckles dotting her nose and forehead with careful fingers.

"Why are you even bothering? It's about to be nighttime, it's not like it'll matter." Astrid scoffs at the suggestion.

"They announce homecoming royalty tonight, Hiccup." She dusts a fluffy brush over face, spraying white powder over Hiccup's dashboard like snow.

"And your freckles didn't win?" Hiccup doesn't know why he's getting into this. Maybe his small victory with Gobber made him _too_ brave.

"No, Hiccup. They didn't." She seems to be struggling to draw a straight line with an evil looking black pencil, so she brushes off the question.

"Shame, because that's who I voted for. Astrid Hofferson's freckles." Hiccup says with a mock disappointed shrug.

"Who'd you vote for king, then?" She sits back from the mirror, satisfied with the lined eyes staring back.

"Scott. I've always thought that him and your freckles should get together." Astrid lets out an unflattering snort at the suggestion.

"Funny you should say that." Her voice drops to a whisper, "They have a…history."

"Scandalous!" Hiccup exclaims, smiling as Astrid laughs. He pulls into the football stadium parking lot, cringing at the lack of available parking.

"Just park around back. There's an apartment complex back there that doesn't care." Hiccup follows Astrid's impatient directions around the stadium and into an extremely seedy lot of an even seedier building . There are bars over the windows and Hiccup is disconcerted by a used rubber and a crack pipe sitting piled together against one wall.

Astrid climbs out of the car, tucking 10 dollars into her pocket and waiting for Hiccup.

"Uhh…" He looks around, feeling pathetically suburban.

"It's fine, just lock the car. Scott parks here all the time." He double checks the lock on his key fob before worriedly glancing back like a kid dropped off at summer camp for the first time. "Come on, don't worry about it."

By the time they're back around to the front gate of the stadium, the gem is halfway through the first quarter. Astrid winds her way efficiently through the crowd, looking for a seat near the front so that getting out onto the field at halftime isn't too difficult.

Hiccup convinces her into a spot from which he can see the distinctive black sunroom of his car, hoping to be able to call the cops immediately when, not if, it gets stolen.

The score is up against the Downtown High Dragons by 35-10 at the end of the first half, but that's to be expected. Berk high chose a game that they were sure they'd win for homecoming, so all the fair-weather fans could see them really strut their stuff. Scott looks like a peacock, bowing to the screaming crowds.

They call homecoming royalty nominees onto the field and Astrid struts with an infectious confidence onto the sidelines, linking hands with Scott. Hiccup looks away, disgustingly affected by the gesture between the couple. He glances over to check on his car and his eyes narrow.

There's something…strange going on. A dilapidated truck sits in the middle of the parking lot with a wire kennel standing open in the back, waiting like a sharks gaping maw. An escalade, gaudy and limited edition, purrs and parks beside it, a vaguely recognized hulking form stepping out of the backseat.

From his huge shoulders to the sparkling gold rings, a picture forms in Hiccup's mind. An image of his own tweed clad nightmare strides through the parking lot, and suddenly it's all too obvious what's going on.

Someone drops a cramped kennel on the ground, a wretched skinny form curled in the bottom, radiating misery. It stands as best it can when the kennel hits the ground.

Its heckles probably spike. It probably growls.

Hiccup's own raspy breathing startles him and he fumbles his inhaler out of his hoodie pocket, medicating as quietly as he can, as if the monsters in the parking lot could hear him. A cheer erupts all around him, and he can feel the bleachers rumble with life. They're announcing the winners, and his own nonchalance is already a small victory, because his eyes stay locked on the deal.

The man with the truck hands a way of cash to the shelter' scourge, and the henchman leans down, opening the door of the kennel. Hiccup imagines the unlatching clink, the scrape of the men's shoes on cracked asphalt.

The dog turns toward the exit, baring its teeth. The henchman reaches in, grabbing the slack skin on its skinny neck.

The dog bites twice, like lightening, charging across the parking lot, terrified. Rather than chase after it onto a busy street, the men pile into their cars, leaving the kennel in the street as they flee association. The world becomes abundantly clear for Hiccup, and 3 things are simultaneously thrown into motion:

First, Astrid's name is called and the crowd cheers louder than they have for anyone else. Hiccup can see her in the corner of his mind's eye, grinning and radiant.

Second, the dog veers across a road, charging toward the back gate of the stadium, which is propped open by an idle maintenance vehicle.

And third, Hiccup stands up and runs, stumbling down the stairs, past a distracted teacher turned security guard and out onto the field. He can hear the dog now, its terrified barks yelping above the crowd trying to boo the unknown nerd off of the field. Astrid is probably furious.

20 yard line. He can hear growls now, and a few frightened kids yelp as the dog is noticed.

10 yard line. His heart beat in his own ears attempts to drown out the sound of his own desperate lungs and the tearing of AstroTurf beneath the dog's feet.

Touchdown.

The band is silent as the dog caves to Hiccup's approach, backing up slowly as its trembling tail folds between his legs. The frightened creature bares its teeth, whimpers mixing with its horrifying growls.

"It's ok…it's ok, buddy." Hiccup murmurs, forcing his voice to be stable between his own gasping breaths. The dog starts a fresh round of menacing growls and the boy averts his eyes, shrinking down and holding a cautious hand in the animal's direction.

"You're ok. You're going to be safe now." He steps closer focusing on the dog and only the dog. It's skinny and scared, and lashing out at everything. It doesn't know how else to survive.

He steps closer and the dog lays down. He hears the clicking of a handgun safety behind him and turns to see the school officer pointing a gun at the dog with steady hands and a shaky gaze. Hiccup shoots a glare, , too busy to be surprised when the look holds authority and the officer backs off.

"See bud? No one's going to hurt you. You're going to be safe…" The dog's tail wags nervously and Hiccup praises, stepping closer. He turns his head and sticks his hand towards the dog until he can feel the warmth and fear radiating off of the poor thing in droves.

A warm wet tongue licks his finger and he faces the dog with a litany of praises, scratching its skinny pathetic neck. He kneels down on the ground, the scared dog curling against his legs as he holds it's trembling body in place.

The sophomore homecoming princess screams, "my hero!" overdramatically, and the crowd cheers.

Gerard Haddock is never going to believe this.

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**Well, I just talked to you guys…so there's nothing else to say, besides I heard you!**

**A few people reviewed about lack of action, which I totally get, and I'd been trying to figure out how to fit an aspect of the movie in, and thinking I'd have to leave it out, due to wrapping up and not adding a million new plot lines…but then everything fell into place in my head and this happened. **

**I wrote this out in a notebook during my break at work, and I'm pretty sure I gave myself carpal tunnel, so I hope you all enjoy it. **

**Thanks! And If at least 8 of you could help me with my mission of beautiful beautiful math poetry, I would be endlessly appreciative. But mostly I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter! **

**Thanks again guys!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Maybe engineering jobs are good for creativity…or maybe that's all the time on the bus. **

00000

"You sure know how to steal a girl's thunder." Astrid announces as she climbs up onto the bleachers and sits down next to Hiccup, crossing her legs. She has a satin sash over her chest and a gaudy plastic tiara perched on her head.

"And you look like America." Hiccup admits, feeling more than a little punch drunk from the _cheering_. His ears are still ringing like there's an angry wasp stuck in his brain, and somehow he's not too terribly upset about it. Is this what it feels like to be Astrid? Doing things right and having people notice does have a certain charm, although he can't imagine doing it every day, he's exhausted after half an hour.

"Like America?" Astrid asks, narrowing her eyes at Hiccup like she's checking for a head injury. Did someone pass him a flask or something? She should be furious, he only interrupted the most important event of the fall semester, besides winning state, of course. But her anger is tempered by a glaze of reality, the world both brighter and more hideous than it ever has been before.

"Yes, there's something very patriotic about high school and football and –" She cuts him off before he can wax poetic.

"Ok. Don't waste your anthemic poetry on me." She skims the crowd, spying more than a few curious eyes staring Hiccup's direction. "It's not too late to get a homecoming date…" She sing-songs, trying to zero in on someone.

No one immediately stands out.

"Yeah, right. I'm already swarmed with so many ladies, I don't need to invite them." He jokes, wishing she'd just shut up. If nothing else has scared her out of talking to him, his lack of game definitely would. Also, in fairy land, he has to make sure to be available just in case Astrid Hofferson decided to jump him.

He hates it when fairy land blurs into reality.

"That was pretty heroic." Astrid shrugs, smiling as honestly as she can manage. Everyone is staring at _him_ not her.

What is she supposed to do?

"Gobber was the heroic one anyway, beating animal control here." He deflects, an uncomfortable prickle building in his spine. Is someone staring at him?

Probably just Astrid, but still, he can usually tell the difference.

"Yeah…is the dog ok?" She says it too loudly, hoping to be a disruption and get a glance, then immediately regretting the desperation. It's fine.

If anyone deserves a few minutes of her limelight, it's Hiccup.

"He will be." Hiccup shrugs, scratching the back of his neck and wishing whoever is staring holes into him would just watch the game. The unwanted spotlight feels like sunburn and his face flushes.

"Ok, everyone's staring at you," Astrid snaps in a shouting whisper, and Hiccup looks at her sideways. Neither one of them is enjoying this.

"You're the one wearing the crown, Astrid."

"But they're not looking at me, they're looking at you!" Astrid meets the sophomore homecoming princess' eyes and glares. Only because she doesn't like her using those goo-goo eyes on Hiccup. Honestly, she—

Ah. Never mind, she's not even making sense anymore.

She just doesn't like being ignored. That's all.

"That's weird." He hunches down lower in his seat, folding his hands across his lap.

"What are you going to do about it?" She asks, feeling written off, but also the tiniest bit relieved. She lets herself settle into her seat and keeps a wary eye on that dumb sophomore. She looks like _trouble_.

"Hope that they stop." Hiccup answers, eyes trained on the scoreboard.

00000

Applebee's is crowded, apparently Scott told the football where he was going, and especially with Hiccup the wonder boy in tow, it seems like half the school followed along. The bar is full of parents reliving the glory years through Scott Nout's biceps.

Hiccup is on one side of the poorly lit booth, next to everyone's jackets, and across from Astrid and Scott. His tree-trunk arm is wrapped around her shoulders and Hiccup wonders if Astrid knows just how _small_ he makes her look. He smiles to himself at just how furious that would probably make her.

"That was really cool Hiccup!" A girl who Hiccup believes is a junior taps him on the shoulder before following the hostess to a nearby table. He takes a long sip of his soda, ignoring what must be the fifth person to say something in the last 20 minutes.

"See Hiccup, if there was ever a chance for a last minute date…" It'd be easier if he had a date, right? Then everything would be simple. Her tone is light, but her smile is absent and Astrid shoots her a confused look that she doesn't answer. Scott smiles and nods appreciatively, pointing at the girl who just walked by.

"That's Nicole, and I don't think she has a date. She was trying to get Tuff to ask her, but he only flies solo." It's completely surreal having Scott, all-star quarterback, be so nice to him. Maybe this is just what life is like when you're born athletic…and handsome. No one can deny that Scott is particularly symmetrical.

On the other hand, Hiccup has never been more glad to have asthma, as a few extremely fake younger girls enter and spot him, squealing to each other like it's a decibel competition. Hiccup meets Astrid's surprisingly hostile gaze and rolls his eyes. She smiles.

"I'm good guys, really. I've got two left feet anyway." That and he probably couldn't take the public popularity procession for that long. Even know, with Astrid's hand sitting politely on Scott's knee, his blood is nearly boiling.

"So what kind of name is Hiccup anyway?" Scott blurts, tact not being one of his many apparently desirable talents.

"It's not his real name, babe." Astrid murmurs, and Scott shoots her a look.

"Just a nickname. But hey, it's kept away trolls so far…" The dumb joke slips out of his mouth like water, and he looks down, rubbing his paler thumb with a concentrated vengeance. A chorus of 'Hiccup _is _here!' breaks out in the background and he wants to disappear. The only thing worse than never being noticed, is being noticed and forgotten.

"So Hiccup, are we on for studying physics on Monday?" Astrid asks, nearly drooling as a waiter walks by with a burger. She ordered a salad for some peer pressure related reason, even though Hiccup has never seen her eat anything remotely resembling a vegetable. And he's seen her eat plenty.

"Yeah. You'll ace this one for sure, plus rotational motion is really just the same stuff plus a dimension." He assures her, wondering why she's even bringing it up, he knew she'd be by at some point, and these days she rarely calls. The last time she popped by, he came down from the shower and found her cross legged on the couch with his dog in her lap, pondering reading for AP English.

It's chaos, but he likes it better than his old solitary, organized life.

"Whoa, you really are smart." Scott nudges back into the conversation with little guile, leaning forward over the table. "Astrid said you might be able to tutor me for my math final…ya know, if you aren't busy on a hot date with Nicole." He whispers the final word, jabbing a sausage sized finger at the table behind him.

"Umm…sure? It's Algebra 3 right?" Hiccup clarifies, wondering why Astrid is trying so hard to sell him when Scott's being nothing but nice. A little patronizing maybe, but not necessarily rude.

"Algebra 2," Scott clarifies, in a slightly condescending tone that seems entirely misplaced. "Numbers and me, not bros, man." Hiccup nods, pretending to understand. It's probably good that he's gotten practice at this, because apparently his attention to Astrid's first few anti-numeric rants was unsatisfactory.

This would be fun if it were just the two of them.

"Yeah, I mean, this kid is the reason why I still have an A in calculus." Astrid laughs, leaning into Scott. Hiccup has never helped her with Calculus, aside from a few especially nasty problems.

She's playing at something.

"And I thank you for that man, she's mean when she gets anything less than a 95." Scott jokes and Astrid grins, slapping his arm with the back of her hand. They're so _perfect_ together, it makes Hiccup sick.

He laughs, smiling as their food arrives, Hiccup and Scott's burgers sizzling and appetizing. Astrid immediately reaches over and steals one of Hiccup's scalding hot fries, whimpering as the potato burns her mouth. She then digs into her salad with lackluster enthusiasm, eyeing Hiccup's burger the whole time.

Well, it's not like he's going to finish it anyway.

"Applebee's is just so…" Scott eats with gusto, he squeezes Astrid with gusto. He's a bucket of virility, and Hiccup bets that sexually repressed high school teachers adore the guy. "I just love the company philanthropy—"

"Philosophy." Astrid interjects around a mouthful of spinach.

"Philosophy. Just good food close to home." Scott finishes, taking another bite of his burger.

"So you're saying, that here you can eat good in the neighborhood?" Hiccup can't resist, and he chews pensively on a fry, waiting for an answer. Astrid gives him a glare, but he can see the amusement dancing around the corners of her mouth.

"You get it!" He exalts, shoving a fist towards Hiccup. The smaller boy bumps it timidly, and someone squeals in the background. Astrid frowns, glaring at her new favorite sophomore. She probably looks like a freak, but the sash still strung over her shoulder makes her brave.

"It's a good restaurant."

"The best." Scott jams a couple fries into his full mouth, eating like someone's going to take it away. It's the first notable thing that Astrid has in common with him, and he looks back and forth, taking in their similar hunched and desperate expressions. "Anyway, where are you going to college next year?"

"Undecided," Hiccup shrugs, losing interest in his food. Athletes are different animals.

"Fair enough, I guess you don't have recruiters whipping up sweet deals or nothing." Scott reflects deeply.

"Nope. I heard you're headed out to Kansas?" Hiccup prods the conversation forward, the small talk trickling like a half frozen creek, until the waiter comes to remove their plates and bring Hiccup a box. He learns far more than he ever thought he would need to go about 'pumping up' and the complete theory of throwing a perfect spiral.

He couldn't be more relieved when Scott's cell phone rings, and the boy insists he picks up for Tuff. Between Tuff and Astrid, Hiccup wonders who acts more like Scott's girlfriend. He suspects it's Tuff.

"Party? College Party? Man, I'm so there…At Applebee's…yeah, man, it's so tight." Scott prattles before hanging up with a final, "On my way."

"College party, eh?" Astrid asks, stirring the ice at the bottom of her glass with her straw. Hiccup recognizes the expression of veiled expectation with the assumption of disappointment, but it's lost on Scott, who stands up excited, dropping a fifty on the table.

"Yeah, Tuff said it's completely sick." He frowns, "You know you can come, right babe?" Astrid sighs, shrugging in a defeated way that Hiccup has never seen.

"You know me, I'm no fun on race days, but I'll see you at five tomorrow?" He looks at her blankly. "Homecoming pictures? Your mom's house…" She trails off at his vacant expression, giving up on communication. "I'll text you tomorrow, have fun babe." He leans down and kisses her sloppily goodbye.

Hiccup can't help but cringe at the wet sound, toying with the fuzzy edge of his cardboard container.

"You get her home safe, alright dude?" Scott flashes Hiccup a _dazzlingly_ charming smile, before patting his shoulder and sauntering out of the restaurant, drawing a few of Hiccup's new fans along with him.

As soon as he leaves, Astrid nearly launches herself at his leftovers, prying the lid off of the box and taking a meaty bite out of the burger with a sigh. She gulps it down without much chewing.

"I am so freaking hungry." She complains, popping a couple of fries in her mouth and chewing as quickly as she can to make room for more.

"Then why did you order a salad?" Hiccup inquires, shoving the container further her direction and leaning back in his seat, relaxing. He lets out a breath that he didn't know he was holding, and takes the last sip of his soda, slurping it out from between molten ice cubes.

"I just always order one." Astrid defends, her voice sharp, finishing the last of Hiccup's fries with a mournful sigh, wishing there were more. "I don't think Scott even comprehends the fact that girls eat." She laughs, only a little bitter, pushing the open and empty carton to the middle of the table.

"I don't think he _comprehends_ much of anything," Hiccup murmurs, casually looking around and immediately wishing he hadn't. Everyone he makes accidental eye contact with smiles and waves, manic and fake.

"Thanks for not being a jerk…" Astrid taps her fingers idly on the table and smiles slightly. "Well, too much of a jerk anyway." The controlled smile expands into her real infectious grin, spreading to her eyes like sunshine. Hiccup can't help but return it, and Astrid falters, looking at him confused. Her brow creases and she looks away, tipping her glass back towards her mouth and crunching a piece of ice, satisfied when it shatters between her teeth.

She needs to stop _seeing_ him, those moments when he's suddenly _more_ than Hiccup should be are seriously messing with her. She confided in a friend, and when she notices the stiff line of his jaw or golden flecks in his green eyes, he morphs into another _guy_. She knows he won't tell, but it doesn't stop the terror and confusion from clouding her for a moment.

But at the same time, she really doesn't mind the glimpse.

"I was nice." Hiccup defends, a little loudly, hoping to draw her out of whatever trance she's fallen into. She blinks and her eyes are brighter, and he wonders if she's dealing with something he doesn't know about yet. "Oh yeah, and thanks for telling him all about how I help you with Calculus all the time." He says sarcastically, and Astrid shrugs, her sash slipping up against her neck before she can twitch it away.

"So you caught that, huh?"

"Why couldn't you just tell the truth?" Hiccup pokes the snake, his tone not at all delicate. He doesn't know what it is about today, but he feels dangerously brave.

"I did, you helped me with infinite integrals." Astrid defends, and upon seeing Hiccup's still serious face she sighs. "Look, do you want Scott rushing in here playing the protective boyfriend?" She asks, jokingly.

"I guess not." He can't imagine the orchestration required in five minutes of Astrid's life. Between the control, the lying, and the spotlight, she must be exhausted. She smiles at him, perfect teeth glinting and making it impossible to forget how beautiful she is, even for a second.

"I've never really had any guy friends around this much, honestly." She explains, collected and cool, the Astrid Hofferson he always wondered about. "I don't really know what kind of interrogations Scott would have in mind, and I don't really want to find out."

Not to mention that Scott is the pivot about which her old life is clinging, even the ever consistent running is marred – or improved – by Hiccup's ungainly presence.

Another girl walks by, making a big show of introducing herself to Hiccup, who really can't decide where to look, between her exposed belly button ring and aggressive expression. He feels like a trend, everyone jumping all over him until he fades back into obscurity like an urban legend.

Big foot tracks, on display until the next rain.

"Can we please get out here?" He asks a glowering Astrid as soon as his new biggest _fan_ leaves, standing and tugging his jacket over his shoulders.

"Way ahead of you," She double checks that the money left on the table covers the bill, before turning and striding out of the restaurant, chin dipped low as she pushes through the crowd still waiting for a table. He follows behind, wiggling through the gaps that close immediately after she passes through.

They climb into Hiccup's car, and he fumbles for his keys, wiggling it into the ignition by the dim light of a street light above. Astrid fastens her seatbelt and crosses her arms, looking out at the apparently unsatisfactory world with an irrationally miffed expression as they pull out onto the street. She doesn't want to go home, but she doesn't tell Hiccup to drive anywhere else as he aims towards her neighborhood.

"So, was it just me, or was that girl only wearing half of her clothes." Hiccup tries to break the silence with an awkward laugh, signaling carefully as he navigates the nearly deserted streets. He feels better out on the street, away from the ridiculous fakery.

"Everything is different now." Astrid announces, glum and snippy with a combination of exhaustion and hunger.

"Why is everything different now?" Hiccup humors her, and she shrugs violently, her seat rocking with a leathery squeal.

"Your fan club," She spits, like it's his fault everyone decided to name Haddock the flavor of the hour.

"Jesus, Astrid. Everyone is going to forget about this by the time the dance is over tomorrow," he assures her, wanting it to be true so badly he forces himself to believe it.

"No, they won't, Hiccup." Astrid sounds far more confident than he had, and he frowns, hoping she's wrong.

"Why are you so sure about that?" Homecoming wipes away weeks of once important gossip with one glittery swipe.

"You just don't get it, do you?" She turns toward him, eyes charged and nearly glowing in the dim car. "You don't get how…Urgh, anyone who talks to you for five minutes is going to have you under their skin. Ten minutes and your cryptic sarcasm is going to frustrate them for weeks." She snaps, pushing her hair off her face and staring at Hiccup accusingly.

"What? I—"

"You what?" She asks rhetorically, her mind spinning out of control as her volume increases, echoing off of the walls and beating into her head like a drum. "Hiccup, you stick, ok?" He doesn't get it, how irksome it is. He's like human superglue, he sticks to your mind and refuses to be wiped clean. No matter how hard you scrub, or try to forget, you can't ever fully remove that taint of Hiccup.

The worst part is, sometimes she doesn't even mind the seeds she's implanted in her brain.

"Why would everything be different, anyway?" Hiccup steers the conversation, confused and stewing.

"Because, everyone—" Everyone again, the mythical everyone who has a say in everything. Hiccup is done caring about what the ever important mass thinks, the crowd who somehow makes up the third wheel in what he thought was a friendship of two people.

"Because people noticed me before you for five minutes?" Hiccup fills in her sentence, gaining momentum. "Do you even get how little I care about that? I wish they'd leave me alone, I don't want to be some mascot. I'm not a pet, who does a special trick and takes treats." He snarls, shockingly angry. He hadn't realized how furious he was until it started tumbling, free-falling and ripping the walls on the way down. "So if I have friends besides you, or hell, if people recognize me as a fellow human, we can't be friends anymore?" Astrid purses her lips, reflecting on how awful that really does sound.

And how abysmally true it is.

"No, that's not—" She interjects, shocked when Hiccup runs over her words, fingers white around the steering wheel.

"Oh, right, another thing: Why would everything change because I got some stupid attention that I didn't even want, not because you broke my freaking arm?" He accuses, reaching the end of a rope that he both hoped and feared was infinite. "Or how about when I was the one to come and get you in the middle of the night? Things didn't change then?" He smiles angrily, the best thing he's ever had unraveling before his eyes. "How about when you made me secret keeper for some of the most messed up shit I can imagine? Everything definitely stayed the same then." He finishes, his blood echoing in his ears as he eases up on the accelerator. He hadn't realized he was speeding.

Astrid is silent, and when she does speak, her voice is shockingly small and bluntly honest.

"Things—things did change all those times." She admits, "I just don't…I don't know what will happen if they change more. I don't want to risk it."

"I do." Hiccup says plainly, "I don't want you to date someone who ditches you whenever it's convenient." He hopes he doesn't sound desperate, but has charged too far to pull back now.

"Scott and I…It just makes sense, Hiccup." She explains, her forced upbeat tone first faltering, then failing.

"Yeah, so does your plan to live at home." He tries not to sound accusatory, the plan is a frighteningly viable choice. "But I don't like it either."

"I don't have a choice." Astrid states plainly, a fact absorbed and lived by for years draws no deeper emotion.

"There's always a choice—" he stops, hating the hallmark card spewing out of his mouth. "Ok, you may not be ready to do anything crazy, but I will." He flips a U-turn in a parking lot, defiantly driving the other direction. "I refuse to drive you home, pick somewhere else." Astrid can't help but let out a dry laugh.

"How is that crazy?"

"Are you kidding me? I just disobeyed Scott Nout _and_ acted without Astrid Hofferson's permission, I'm a man on the edge." She laughs quietly, the dread of sneaking into her bedroom draining away.

"Fine, take me to Ruff's. She probably won't mind me being…" She checks the clock glowing green on Hiccup's dash. "13 hours early to get ready tomorrow." Hiccup nods, accepting the first two directions to the Thorston house.

It's about a fifteen minute drive, with the stoplights flashing yellow and the air is calm in the car. Astrid's plastic crown ends up discarded into her gym bag, and she unfurls into the feisty, determined girl Hiccup knows, and wishes he didn't love.

At Astrid's instruction, he pulls up alongside the blunt end of a cul-de-sac, to a simple house with a two car garage. Astrid rests her hand on the door handle, exhaling in a measured breath through her nose.

She punches him on the arm, his bicep smarting as his hand flies up to wrap around it, shooting her a wounded glare.

"Owe, you can't just—"

"That was for yelling at me earlier," She explains, feeling doubly awkward as she knows she deserved the tongue lashing. She glances sideways at him, and before she can change her mind, she leans across the gap in the seats, lightly kissing his freckled cheek. She opens the door and climbs out gracefully, leaning against the top of the doorframe. "And that's for…knowing when you needed to yell."

"No problem," He answers, wide eyed and flushed, with his hands clamped on the wheel.

"Thanks, Hiccup." They both know that she's thanking him for more than just the ride. Her lips are still tingling and she licks them, trying to regain their sensation.

"Hey, what are friends for?" Hiccup waits until she's through the front door, which is answered by a pajama-clad Ruff, before driving away, his car unusually loud in the silent night.

He wonders if she still thinks his eyes are pretty.

00000

**I have to say, my last chapter was probably my most polarizing yet. Some people absolutely loved it…and others got a little lost in the last scene. I understand, I used a very minimalist description for the final scene, trying to keep it from being too heavy and slow. **

**If anyone is legitimately in need of an explanation, and has hung around long enough to want one, PM me? I seriously don't mind explaining it, I need someone to talk about this stuff with anyway, when I try with my boyfriend he just stares at me like I'm strange. **

**Also, thank you for everyone who reviewed my last chapter and got this story above 1000 reviews on chapter 20. Those numbers are so round and delicious, I'm positively giddy. A special thanks to those who submitted witty odes to mathematics. **

**So, I found this chapter both difficult and rewarding to write, and I hope that reading it is even more rewarding. I'd love any feedback, as always! Thanks. **


	22. Chapter 22

00000

"Yes!" Astrid celebrates with a smile, pounding a fist on her lab table. A few curious class mates turn in their seats, looking at her with varied levels of annoyance. She ignores them, turning to grin at Hiccup.

"I take it that this one went better?" She'd finally told him about her disastrous first exam while studying the night before, and his lack of cruel judgment had made moving forward seem less insurmountable. She holds her test towards him, flashing the red writing on the top of the page like a proud parent.

"94, I knew you could do it." He smiles back, not exactly surprised, but definitely pleased that his tutelage is worth the lack of sleep.

"What?" She complains lightly, smile still pinching her cheeks. "I didn't impress you? Not even a little?" Somehow it would make this even better if she surpassed _his_ expectations.

"Maybe a tiny bit," he admits, mostly to stay on her good side, "But I knew you could do this stuff if you just stopped complaining about the Greek alphabet."

"I told you, I'm not budging on that, those letters are stupid."

"Good job anyway." He grants her, and she half stands out of her seat, leaning over to peek at his score and consequently giving him a view down the V-neck of her tee-shirt. He blinks once, a long luxurious blink, before coming back to himself and staring forward, eyes glued to the white board at the front of the classroom.

"97?" She wants to be mad that he beat her, but can't bring herself to kill the bliss of relief flooding her veins. She sits back down, crossing her legs, and sighing with a joking shake of her head, relieved smile stuck on her face. "So typical…"

Her father's most recent threat, delivered after she came home late and insisted she was studying, melts away, the dangling axe above her head evaporating momentarily.

"Well, I bet you're going to smoke me on that English essay, anyway." Hiccup offers, trying to remove himself from the path of her competitive rage. It's also true, she'd edited his latest draft in return for studying and returned a paper with more red ink than black on the page.

"That is true." She agrees, feeling absolutely buoyant.

The bell rings, a long even tone that spurs the class to its feet. They migrate towards the door, some bouncing and some slouching as they mull over their recent test grades. Astrid surprises even herself, lingering in the classroom while Hiccup puts on his backpack, and walking beside him out into the hall.

He slouches under the expectation of attention, as his absence at the dance that weekend apparently won't be something soon forgotten. Astrid's presence definitely doesn't help him pass by unnoticed, and he sighs, trying to accept his newfound popularity. Someone he's never , more resists yelling at them to get their own lives.

Despite the attention, he's still glad he didn't go, the pictures of Astrid in her dress and Scott with his smug smile were enough to make _him_ want to punch something.

"So," she starts talking as they're halfway down the hallway, "If you don't mind listening to a thousand banal homecoming rumors, you should come sit with me and Ruff." In true Astrid form, it's too commanding to be a suggestion, and Hiccup shrugs.

"Sure." It should feel monumental, it should feel like high school success knocking on his door at long last, but somehow it doesn't. Fishlegs has been there for weeks now, and he hasn't complained anyway, it's probably just another table. "I do need to nag Fish about the catapult anyway," Astrid laughs, and Hiccup remembers what's truly great about this offer.

"God, you're a nerd." He doesn't feel picked on, only humored as he smiles, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Hey, I'm competitive too, sorry if _my_ winning isn't so sweaty."

"That is true," She concedes, as they walk around the corner and into the senior's lounge. Ruff is already there, taking up most of a couch with her legs flung across Fishlegs' lap. She looks over and grins.

"Hey, it's the dog whisperer." She sits up, making room at the end of the couch. Astrid sits down comfortably and Hiccup can almost feel the invisible guidelines of teenage seating arrangements spring out of the floor like land mines.

"Do you have to buy lunch or something?" Astrid asks when he doesn't sit, pulling a brown bag out of her backpack.

"Nope," Hiccup lies in the interest of being _casual_. He sits down at the end of an empty couch, pulling his heavy calculus book out and flipping to his homework that's tucked in the binding.

"Is that the Calc III book?" Fishlegs asks, saving the awkward situation and eliciting a complacent eye roll from his girlfriend.

"Yeah," Hiccup hefts the book onto its end, showing the cover to his friend. "I liked last year's better though, this one has useless examples." Hiccup laments and Fishlegs nods.

"Still, I wish advanced weight training didn't interfere with the calculus class time. I wanted to take more math," He commiserates grumpily. "Calculus is so much cooler than muscles."

"Are you two even human?" Ruff asks, her deep voice deadpan.

"Last time I checked," Hiccup says sarcastically, not intimidated by Ruff. Her light insult is nothing like Astrid's terrifying glare.

"How's the arm?" She quips, leaning forward with a bright glint of interest in her eyes. Astrid said this kid was different, but Ruff never expected him to come back at her from the start.

"Feeling great."

"How'd you take down that dog?" She quizzes him, Astrid cocking her head at the exchange.

"I didn't" He admits, and she narrows her eyes, silently demanding more explanation. "I didn't wrestle him to the ground or anything."

"Hmm." Ruff thinks on that for a moment, the idea of not using brute force a new one. "Has anyone ever told you that you fit under the 'hot nerd' umbrella?" Hiccup's heard enough from Astrid to know about Ruff's odd pension for the academically inclined.

"No, I can't say I've heard that."

00000

Astrid bounces on her toes at the starting line, pitching forward slightly and planting her right foot, coiled for the gunshot.

This one matters. She glances towards the small group of college scouts off to the side, watching the start. She smiles. She knows that they're here for her, she will interest them. USC isn't here, but she sees CU and Yale, vying for a spot while Stanford looks over their shoulders. A few smaller schools have reps further down the field.

She rolls her ankle, breathing slowly as the race marshal lifts his arm and—

Bang.

She's off, pounding ahead before the bottleneck two hundred meters in. A few other girls jostle for the early lead and she lays on some speed, inching away through the first turn.

It feels good as she bursts onto the races main path, pounding into a snaking dirt road around the nearby lake. She counts her heaving breaths and footsteps, synchronizing with her heartbeat and settling into a breakneck pace.

The good news is, fifteen more minutes of pain, tops. The tape around her toes sticks to the sole of her racing flats and pops off every step, a metronome strapped to her foot. She can feel the timing sensor around her ankle, digging into her calf as it expands with every long step. A race official is at the mile, standing next to a digital clock reading 5:49, and Astrid blows past, letting herself speed up.

She knows the next half mile is downhill and she milks it, strides long and easy as her lungs struggle to keep up. Her knee throbs, and she lets it add to the feeling of vitality, fighting to ignore the systematic pain of her bruising pace.

It's definitely stiffer competition today, she notes as she hears at least one set of footsteps keeping steady, trailing her from fifty meters back. Nothing wrong with some competition, it makes her careful as she avoids deep potholes and branches blown onto the course since it was cleared that morning.

She's smiling, although it probably looks like a grimace, as she glides by the two mile at 11:34. The uphill burst before the last eight hundred meters stings her calves, and she hears opportunistic footsteps speed up behind her. Her knee twinges dramatically and she grits her teeth, lengthening her stride.

No. She lets the image of eager scouts waiting for a fast finish fill her mind as she starts to pull away, cresting the top of the hill with a sigh of relief. She sits back on the brief downgrade, letting her frantic heartbeat slow before the eight hundred meter, where she starts her kick, ignoring pain and pushing her legs forward.

Two laps around the track, that's it, that's not so bad. She insists optimistically in her head, her knee throbbing in time with her heart.

The race finishes with a sprint across a soccer field, the soggy grass clinging to her feet as a first boom of thunder blares overhead. She lays into the grass, legs flailing and arms pumping as she flies past the crowds, the finish line pulling taut across her chest before snapping. Only then does she rein in her speed, jogging halfway down the chutes before she manages to slow to a walk.

She bends over, blood rushing back to her head with blissful clarity as she fiddles with her timing device, holding the plastic in a clammy hand and marching towards the water tent at the end of the chutes.

The second place girl zips through as she's catching her breath, dumping a Dixie cup of Gatorade down her parched throat. The official at the station dramatically takes her timer, saying something in the name of congratulations, but the sound barely makes it through her ringing ears.

No puking today at least.

The cool air starts to seep into her bones, as the sun disappears behind ominous thunderclouds just cresting the mountains. Astrid shivers, exiting the finish to an excited coach holding her gym bag out to her and seizing her in a bone crushing hug. She unzips the bag and fumbles with shaky fingers, tugging sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt on over her damp uniform.

"Under 18! I jus' thought ye were gonna win, not destroy another record." The record that she'd set on the course just 5 weeks ago at an invitational, naturally. She hugs herself stopping the shivering and taking a swig out of her water bottle, her stomach gurgling unsteadily at the burst of liquid.

"Felt fast." She says with a grin, her breathing still labored as more girls stream through the finish. "Any…whew, any words from scouts?" Her lungs feel too small for her chest as she tries not to look eager.

"After a race like that?" Gobber asks, smiling incredulously at her ridiculous humility. It's both refreshing and infuriating, and he has to say it's a lot easier to train than the arrogant girl he used to know. He produces three business cards in his good hand, "they all started talking campus tours."

Astrid beams, and her peripherals search for Hiccup before she can stop them. The terror of dependence grips her heart for a few short seconds before she forces her eyes back to Gobber, taking the cards and staring at the professional sleek lettering.

"Great," her smile is back, full force. "Should I go talk to them?" She asks, the question feeling foreign but _nice_ on her tongue. Delegation a rare and welcome relief from absolute control. New and dangerous nerves flutter in her stomach, pursuing schools other than USC was never the plan, but something feels right about scouts who are interested _now_ rather than after state.

"Well, if you want a scholarship," the coach grins, and claps his runner on the shoulder. She turns and starts to walk away, scanning the crowd. "Oh, an' Astrid?"

"Yeah?" She looks over her shoulder.

"I like this way better 'n the yellin'," he gestures broadly at her and she cocks her head.

"You just gestured to all of me." She's a little past confused.

"Good luck," Gobber brushes her off, and she tries to remember the last time she screamed at someone. Has she really stopped yelling? It seems like a good thing somehow, and she lets herself smile as she wanders off.

It doesn't take long to find the group of scouts, who stand out in their monochromatic windbreakers along the finishing stretch.

"There's the league champion," the CU scout steps forward, first to shake her hand and quickly followed by two more, all clamboring over each other. The familiar smile pastes onto her face, and she knows it's dazzling, but it melts into a natural grin as she remembers Hiccup's advice. _They're not here because you're pretty_.

She shakes hands, setting up meetings with three schools in the next few weeks, none of whom mention her parents. It seems atypical, but possibly encouraging, as they're going to try and woo her, rather than make a pitch. A couple of scouts nearly guarantee her a place on their team, already offering plane fare to visit campus, or school key chains.

This is what being scouted is supposed to feel like, and she's ecstatic that everything might well come to fruition after all.

Not once throughout the entire conversation do her eyes stop searching.

She doesn't see Hiccup until after her cool down, when she's boarding the bus. He's near the back, fussing over something, an ice pack in one hand. He sees her and signals to give him a minute before carefully positioning the ice on a girl's foot.

Astrid's impatience triples when she sees those pink painted toenails and she crosses her arms, slouching against the window. Hiccup walks up to meet her a moment later, fighting through runners now filling the bus, and plops down beside her with his backpack between his feet.

"Good race," he congratulates her, and she can't help but smile just a little, her disdainful mask cracking.

"It was a pretty good race," she admits. "I didn't see you at the finish." She doesn't realize how _attached _it sounds until she hears her own words, but Hiccup appears unperturbed.

"Complete chaos in the junior varsity race. A front runner tripped and," he mimes an explosion with dirty fingers, "Well, one of our team broke an ankle, and another sprained her foot." He leans back against the seat, obviously feeing worse for the wear. "And of course, I got drafted into being everyone's human crutch." He sighs, his shoulders aching already.

"I bet they _loved_ that." Astrid snips under her breath.

"Huh—er, what?" He thinks he heard what she said, but the words make no sense.

"I have a meeting with a CU coach on the 21st," She chirps, drowning out her other comment in his mind. "Sorry that managing was hard today," she adds for good measure, checking her ponytail for split ends while she does her best to avoid eye contact.

"Nice," he can't help but think it'd be happy if she were _close_, but then again, who knows where they'll be next year. "And it's ok," He sighs, slumping forward. "And plus, my dad's coming home tonight, so disappointed scowls around."

"Scott convinced me to hit a party in Arvada," Astrid commiserates, sounding none too pleased, and Hiccup can see the dark circles under her eyes that have spread in the wake of her race.

"You look tired—" he blurts.

"Huh?"

"Oh, umm…sounds like fun." Hiccup lies loudly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ooh yeah," she's less than enthused but…well her social life has been falling apart lately, and people are bound to notice. "Got to keep up appearances, you know?"

"Not really," he mumbles, out of place in her popular sphere.

"Oh well—yeah, appearances." It sounds fake and miserable, and she deflates trying to sound upbeat and failing miserably.

"Trade you?" Hiccup offers, and Astrid cracks a bemused smile.

"I don't know what's funnier," she laughs, "you as Scott's hot date, or me having bonding time with your dad."

"You and my dad, definitely."

The elder Haddock would probably love her.

00000

"You're at the airport?...hehe…ok, Dad, Chinese sounds fine…Yeah, I'll get the door." Hiccup snaps his fingers, summoning Toothless from wherever he's napping this time. "Sure, I'm excited to see you too. Bye." He hangs up the phone and slips it back in his pocket.

After shooing the wolf to the back forty, he continues fastidiously cleaning the house, vacuuming every surface that may have touched dog hair at any point in the last couple of weeks. His father is home just for the weekend, probably heading back to Washington next Tuesday or Wednesday

and sentencing Hiccup back to his deliciously lonely existence.

He only has to get through an absolutely wonderful opportunity for father/son bonding.

The clock chimes and Hiccup cleans faster, knowing that he only has a half an hour minimum. His comforter proves to be impossible and he tosses it in the washer, before vacuuming the rest of his bedroom.

His fingers are crossed as he puts the cleaning supplies away in the basement, and a slamming car door followed by squealing tires alert him to someone peeling out of the driveway. Huh, normally Gobber stays for dinner, Hiccup contemplates, climbing the stairs. His father nearly slams the front door on the way in, nearby windows rattling in their frames.

"Everything ok?" Hiccup asks, tentative upon seeing his father's furious expression. For the first time in years, Gerard Haddock's face softens into a smile when he sees his son, and the change makes the boy wary.

"Gobber is angry with me," the man admits, crossing the room and clapping Hiccup on the shoulder. "But we'll talk about that later. I heard you made quite the splash at the homecoming game." He's beaming and Hiccup shrugs.

"I just did what I had to," his father doesn't hear him, really, and it only heightens his nerves.

Gerard sits on the couch, looking out of place in his own living room as he pats the couch cushions next to him. Hiccup sits on the couch across the room, his hands sitting primly on his knees as he sighs, lacking anything to say.

The doorbell rings.

Hiccup's father jumps to his feet, and gets the food, tipping more generously than normal. It's a beautiful night, despite his fight with Gobber and he lets himself enjoy the cooling fall night air.

It's not long until Hiccup is chewing orange chicken and listening to a lively reenactment of exactly what his father told that representative from Idaho. He nods in the right places, waiting for a gap in the excessively one-sided conversation. It's like the time his dad sent him to pee wee football camp and prattled away for the entire car ride about character and camaraderie. Only this particular lecture turned evening entertainment is political, making it twice as uncomfortable.

The gap finally comes when Gerard takes a massive bite of his Mongolian beef, chewing with such gusto that Hiccup almost feels bad bringing anything up. Then again, the day his curiosity is quieted by rationality will be the day everything becomes simpler.

"So Dad, why is Gobber mad at you again?" Hiccup asks, treading lightly. Those two have been friends ever since college, when his Dad was a handsome young quarterback and Gobber was an international student with a penchant for big parties and even bigger accidents. A fight between them is as unheard of as Hiccup being called in the NFL draft.

"Ah, that." His voice falls as he picks a bit at a pile of rice, dragging the grains across his plate. "You know him," he starts, choosing words carefully before his language breaks down into casual distress, "thinking those dogs of his are misunderstood poodles. But you and I, Henry, we know better." His Dad's basis for false kinship plants a seed of worry in Hiccup's gut.

"What—Erm exactly, is going on with the—his, his dogs?" Abandoning connection to the shelter proves difficult and he hopes that it flies under his father's obviously off kilter radar.

"I approved passing a bill to keep dangerous breeds out of shelters, and it went through at the hearing last Friday, the one I had to miss the homecoming game for." He explains apologetically, as if Hiccup cares about his father missing a football game.

"It passed?" The seed of worry is sprouting into a gnarled tree of dread.

"Barely, but I'm glad it did. You and I both know Gobber's daft sometimes, thinking it's safe to give pitbulls to senior citizens and children." The statement carries an outraged tone so different from his rehearsed cadence. It's like when Astrid drifts in and out of being his friend, the harsh changes in tone sending his head on loops.

"When does it become effective?" Hiccup asks cautiously, deciding just how soon he's going to have to run away.

"Next month, Gobber has to hand over the keys to the place on the second of next month. He's none too happy about that." Gerard sighs, feeling the weight of his oldest friendship trying to crumble. "I just wish he'd listen to me, or even you," Hiccup cringes, "take in some Labradors and keep the place open."

"What makes you think I know anything about pitbulls?" He focuses on his father's odd statement and the man's newfound trust of his son's ability to give adequate input on political matters.

"Pitbulls? You protected all those people from that monster at the game the other day, you know how they're bred to be mean." He continues talking animatedly, as Hiccup's dizzy head shakes in silent ignored protest. "And they're nothing compared to the wolf-dog epidemic. There are probably half a million wolf-dogs and purebred wolves in houses and shelters right now," his voice is high pitched and exasperated, seized by a primal and ridiculous fear. "You can't let kids around these things, the fields will bite their arms off as soon as look at them."

"Wolves, huh?" Hiccup's blood feels refrigerated, tracing throbbing frozen patterns beneath his skin when all he wants to do is scream.

"Can you believe it? I'm shocked that it's not in the news every day, another person getting killed." Hiccup wants to answer, he wants to scream that they're predators and they eat prey. He wants to enumerate the copious facts he knows about canine/human interaction and the where the blame rests in the case of a tragedy. He wants to think his father would listen.

But he nods mechanically, shoving another piece of food into his mouth, even though it has morphed into sawdust.

"Crazy." He mutters, his tone slipping towards the accusation he wishes he could throw.

"It's good you agree, I'm really glad to have something to talk about, son."

"Me too, dad." Hiccup lies through his teeth, wishing he were good at sports for the millionth time in his life. Then they could bond over things _other_ than destruction.

00000

**Hey y'all, not really much to say other than I love the responses from the last chapter! ** **I did get some wonderfully positive PM's (Looking at you Homerus, 2400shadow, ramiz. .54, Soul of the blind…sorry if I missed anyone!), and I just wanted to remind you guys that I LOVE hearing from you, and I don't know you're enjoying the story unless you drop a review! **

**A hit without a review just looks like a failure to keep attention on my part. **

**Thanks for all your continued support, and I hope you like the chapter! **


	23. Chapter 23

**You guys are going to hate me…**

00000

"I don't see how he thinks he can do this!" Astrid yells, stomping indignantly in the school parking lot, where they're talking after practice in between their cars. "That's not something he can do, he can't just throw away their lives!" She's emphatic and fiery, and everything Hiccup wishes he could be, but he just feels drained.

"It's already done." He turns and rests his head on his driver's side door frame, futilely banging his forehead against the car. "Unless you're governor and you just haven't told me." He adds, sarcastic and miserable.

"This is so…sick." She's thinking of Spike, and how no one will look past her exterior and realize she's more than the sum of her proportions, that her blocky head doesn't make her cruel.

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me." She's silent for a minute, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her letter jacket. Astrid fiddles with a ball of lint as she looks at him, making herself see beyond the obvious lanky intelligence that annoys and bolsters her on a now daily basis. She looks for the facet of the boy that thought adopting a wounded wolf was a good idea, the part of him that came when she called even though she had yet to do anything but hurt him. The part of him that's stupidly brave.

"So what are we going to do about it?" She asks calmly, the _we _standing out in Hiccup's mind like a firework.

"The current plan is taking Toothless and running away to Canada." Astrid crosses her arms at him, glaring daggers. "What? What do you want me to do?"

"Something," she answers, "something besides giving up."

"What can we do, Astrid? I've got 13 days to somehow adopt out 56 'dangerous' dogs." He turns around to face her, flushed and obviously upset. Good, if he's going to let Spike down, he should be in anguish about it.

"Yeah, or else the city gets them. And the city will have no place to put them so…" She draws a line across her throat with her finger.

"I know that."

"Just making sure, because you really don't seem to be acknowledging that. Bart…Spike…all…"She makes the motion again, stepping towards him as a challenge.

"I know!" She thinks that's the loudest she's ever heard him, "I know that they're all going to die, if I don't do something, but the fact is, unless owning a 'dangerous' breed suddenly becomes cool then it's never going to happ—That's it!" He shouts suddenly, the tone changing from morose to hopeful as she can see his brain cogs in motion behind his eyes.

"What's it?" Astrid asks, simultaneously hopeful and out of the loop as Hiccup's mysterious words jump like popcorn in her brain.

"Oh, that's—that could work…we just need—" Hiccup paces in tiny circles, hands twisted in his hair as a plan lays out invisible to the rest of the world.

"Mind cluing me in, Hiccup?" Astrid crosses her arms and leaning back against her car.

"I mean, it's obvious—" His eyes light up and his hands wave wildly, he accidentally punches his car door and recoils.

"It's not that obvious." She never feels stupid when she's not around Hiccup.

"Ok, er—sorry, I'm just—This might work, this might really work." He insists, half-terrified of her yelling at him, desperate to communicate.

"Spit it out." Astrid instructs, forcing her voice to be gentle, and cringing at the stress she can hear leaking through.

"We've got _you_ and we've got _me_, and an entire high school of people who think we're miraculously cool for some reason. We can make adoption cool, we can do it." He's too excited and stops to take a breath, and the image forms in Astrid's mind.

"I'll get Ruff, and Scott, and he'll get the football team," She suggests, and Hiccup nods, although he's not the biggest fan of having Scott involved. "We can—this is going to work." Astrid is confident, the despair evaporating and everything begins to make sense. If she works hard enough, she can fix this too.

"Ok," Hiccup smiles, in the moment of lofty hope, and checks the time on his phone, before running his hand through his hair. "And I've got to go."

"Ok," Astrid surprises him when she walks around his car, climbing into the passenger seat and abandoning her car in the school parking lot. "We've got to plan this thing." She announces as he gets in, buckling her seatbelt.

"Well, I can't _right_ now." He doesn't tell her to leave and she dabbles, indecisively grabbing the door handle before her hand comes back to her lap.

"What are you doing _right _now that's so important?" She asks, mimicking his tone as she pulls her phone out of her pocket and texting Scott that she's not going over to his place tonight.

He probably would have ditched her anyway.

Right?

"I've got to go check on Toothless." Hiccup turns onto the freeway, his car almost too warm with Astrid in it. He cracks a back window and takes a deep breath, no longer suffocating in her haze.

"Aah, where do you put him when your dad is around, anyway?" He sure can't flee to an alternate persona like she does.

"We have about 3000 acres, plenty of corners." Hiccup admits like a shameful secret. It's not a big surprise that a big house in the mountains would have land, but the amount has always seemed insane. And pretentious, definitely pretentious.

"Jesus, you are rich," Astrid's eyes widen slightly as she tries to imagine, "How much space is that anyway?"

"More than 2000 acres," Hiccup answers and she slugs him on the arm. He glares out of the corner of his eye and amends his statement, "About five square miles."

"You could run away without leaving home," she muses, rubbing her knuckles slightly, and Hiccup shrugs.

"I'm pretty sure that owning a mountain is just another accolade I didn't win," he scoffs, quietly honest.

"How are you going to find Toothless, anyway." Astrid diverts the conversation, her chest feeling uncomfortably _full_.

"Eh," he shrugs. "We have our spots. I leave an auto-feeder at a shed about a mile and a half back from the house, I normally start there." Astrid furrows her brow, drawing Hiccup's attention more than he'd like, and checks her watch.

"It's going to be dark by the time you get back," she warns. The sun is already looking tired, flirting with rotund grey clouds drifting around mountain peaks.

"Believe it or not, I'm completely capable of turning on a flashlight."

"Excuse me for trying to make sure you don't get eaten by a bear or something."

"Why would that happen at night?" He asks, perplexed and proud that Astrid doesn't want him to get eaten. "Bears are diurnal." She looks at him like a second head is sprouting out of his shoulder.

"Maybe I'm just a normal _human _who knows being in the forest at night and alone is bad." She can't explain the foreign pinching and crushing sensation in her chest at the thought of Hiccup stumbling around the woods in the dark.

"So you're scared." It's a bold faced challenge and he knows it, but there's a certain lovely adrenaline rush in poking her.

"I'm not scared." She can't help her obtusely defensive tone.

"You sound kind of scared—Ow!" Her solid punch lands with a thunk in his ribs, and he coughs. "Why would you do that? You do not punch the driver." He looks around wildly, hoping no police saw the car's wild swerve. "That's like the first rule of being a passenger."

"I'm not scared," she repeats, her voice satisfied.

"Ok, Astrid." He doesn't believe her, and she can hear it in his tone, like he's talking to a child pretending to be brave. "You're not scared."

"I'll come with you," she spits at him, because she is _not_ afraid. He turns to the window to hide his grin.

That worked perfectly.

00000

"I had no idea all this was back here," Astrid remarks, waiting beside a clear snow-fed stream for Hiccup to catch up. She can't help but feel sort of…empathetic towards the guy, out of breath as he ascends to meet her. The backpack she insisted on carrying digs into the points of her shoulders, too wide-set for her to really be comfortable.

"Yeah…"he holds a hand out and she gives him a water bottle, surprisingly patient as he takes a deep drink. "I used…to catch minnows…up here as a kid," he chokes out.

"Do we need to slow down?" He glares at her and she takes the sudden animosity as a yes. She guesses that all guys, even Hiccup, have their _pride_.

They start walking again after a moment, and Astrid lets herself slow to Hiccup's pace, kicking loose rocks along and taking the high trail when necessary. The orange sunset lights the forest mist ablaze and fir needles gleam in the waning light. It looks like rain, with the fat clouds trundling over the mountains, and Astrid shivers reflexively. She misses summer already.

"So, Gobber has to hand over the keys exactly two weeks from today. I think we should go for a week from Saturday for the adoption…free for all." At this point, he's breathing almost normally, and the sound is unreasonably refreshing.

"Halloween?" Astrid asks, balancing for a moment on a slick tree root before stepping onward, glad that she changed back into her jeans. The breeze slices through her thick jacket, nipping at her sides.

"Ironic, right?" Hiccup admits, "but I was kind of thinking, it might work in our favor." He points in a vague Northeastern direction, his hand almost glancing the top of her head. "A guy over that way has a pumpkin patch, maybe if we use some signs to divert those customers the long way past the shelter…" He starts and Astrid smiles, effectively and profoundly silencing him.

"I like the way you think, Haddock." The sun peeks brightly through a gap in the trees ahead, a sort of death throe, before the clouds close over the sky with a vengeance, twilight encroaching like a shroud. "I was kind of thinking that we should bring Spike to the football game on Friday, after regionals. Let everyone get a look at that beautiful face." Hiccup can't help but smile at her wistful face, his stomach aching for no rational reason.

"You're meant to have that dog."

"I know," Astrid shrugs, glancing over at Hiccup fleetingly, and seeing the determined guy she'd imagined earlier. "I just…don't need to rock the sinking boat." The forest eats the words, instead of letting them linger in the dense air as echoes, and she feels safe for the moment. Hiccup digests the careful words, nodding slowly.

He doesn't accept the answer, necessarily, but he does understand it.

"I like the football game idea," not looking at her is just as painful as looking, with the strangely humid air forging blonde curls around her face. "Do you think you could get the cheerleaders to say something at halftime, maybe?" Hiccup asks and Astrid snorts, the sound cracking her nearly angelic exterior.

"Me? No," her face is absolutely devious. "But Scott can."

"Guess it's good you're going to recruit him then." Hiccup's voice is less than enthusiastic, and he tries not to follow its lead.

"Come on, what's your problem with Scott?" Astrid asks honestly, "He was nice to you."

"I told you to other night," he shrugs. "He ditches you way too much." Among other things that Hiccup doesn't bother digging up. Mainly jealousy…he sneaks a glimpse at her perplexed face, the way her feet find the driest spots on the trail.

Mostly jealousy.

"Well, you don't have to be so grumpy about—I just felt a raindrop." Astrid announces ominously, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

The words trigger the rest of the deluge, and a freezing bucket dumps on their heads, cascading between the trees. Her mouth falls open, irritated, before she starts laughing, wiping her forehead with cold white fingers. Hiccup joins in the laughter, blindly pushing forward on the trail. They're close, thanks to Astrid's initial uphill _sprint_ and it's not worth it to turn back now.

"We're only a quarter mile away, probably." He shouts over the thumping rain, the hairs on the back of his neck standing when a boom of thunder echoes through the trees ahead of them.

"Come on, this is freezing," she calls back, urging him to jog along with her. He's not sure whether he's following her or racing to the shed as he follows, clambering over the wet rocks and being glad on every step for the deep treads in his hiking boots.

The shed appears as a shadow in the mist and Astrid speeds up slightly, her back pulling him along despite his aching lungs. She shoves through the door of the tiny shed, whirling around and breathing in the dry air before Hiccup bursts through behind her, the wind blowing the door shut behind him with a bang.

The space shrinks as they squeeze towards the dry corner, suddenly chest to chest, inches apart as Astrid's oversize backpack squelches wetly against the unfinished wood wall. It slips off her shoulders and falls to the floor with a thunk, and she leans back against the wall, rough cut wood snagging the wet wool of her jacket. She can feel him breathing, each quick shallow breath brushing his chest against hers in the dark. Her toes curl without her permission against the bottom of her shoes as faint gray shadows start glowing against Hiccup's drenched jacket.

Eyes adjust, and soon the sifted, muted light drifting through the cracks in the structure illuminate the tiny space, and Hiccup's unnaturally large pupils in the dark. Her eyes trace the deep shadow beneath the jaw that's stronger than she thought, and she inhales sharply.

The inhale is the most feminine sound Hiccup has ever heard, and it's equal parts alluring and bizarre coming from Astrid's mouth. His heart pounds a frantic tattoo against his ribcage, his stomach churning uneasily as the rushing water outside overwhelms. He glances down, and his hand finds her wrist in the dark, holding it in his palm before he can remind himself that she's off limits.

The room smells like rain, and pine sap, and that infuriatingly heady scent of Astrid's shampoo. She wipes her bangs off her forehead awkwardly with her left hand, her right wrist still resting in his palm, the only warm place on her whole body. She shivers and one of them shuffles closer, but she can't tell who with her blood rushing through her ears.

One of them is leaning.

The door creaks open, muted light pouring into the room and Astrid jerks open eyes she hadn't realized were half closed. Toothless's tongue lolls happily out of his mouth as he trots inside, shaking the water out of his fur and splattering the entire room with runny mud. At the literal cold shock, Astrid jerks up straight, kicking the wall accidently as Hiccup drops her hand, stepping backwards and rubbing his neck.

"Toothless!" Astrid greets, chipper and over excited as she kneels, hugging the filthy wolf and letting him lick her face with a long pink tongue. The dog turns and grins at Hiccup, who shoots him a glare. "You know, you were right. This is amazing, he found us in the middle of the woods," she prattles on, stroking the soft fur behind his ears and refusing to look at Hiccup. "He's amazing." It's as true as it is a diversionary tactic, and the disappointed boy softens slightly, patting Toothless on the head.

He also takes a moment to mouth 'traitor' at the dog, his eyes cold and accusing.

That is, if he was even remotely on the right track. They did almost kiss, right? Not that Hiccup has much knowledge in the world of kissing—or even almost kissing—people, but…he thought she was _leaning_.

He laughs bitterly to himself, watching Astrid bury her face in Toothless grubby neck and talk to him. That's probably the closest he's ever going to get to kissing her, and somehow it's worth the freezing agony of rejection that he's saddled with. His hand still burns where he touched her, like she left a mark on his palm, claiming him and not intending to do anything about it.

"—cup? Hiccup?" Astrid calls his name, progressively louder as he doesn't respond, frozen staring a hole into the ground and pensively pinching the soaked hem of his jacket. "Hiccup!" He whirls to stare at her like he forgot she was there and she can't help the crimson that rises to her cheeks, entirely without her permission. "Can you shut the door? It's freezing out there." He notices the subtle shivering in her shoulders beneath her heavy jacket, but she holds Toothless closer, drawing warmth from his musky smelling damp fur.

Traitor, again.

The room falls back into darkness with the door shut and latched and Hiccup rummages through the backpack that Astrid left on the floor, pulling out a flashlight and feeling up the wall for the twine hammock he knotted last summer. He slips the light into the corner, tightening the tough strings around it and turning it on, bathing the room in stark LED lighting. Astrid looks at the light appreciatively, avoiding eye contact as she folds on the ground, tugging Toothless into her lap and hugging him tightly.

Traitor, traitor, traitor.

"Better?" He asks, pulling a stool from underneath his tiny workbench and sitting down, chill slowly creeping from his limbs in the absence of wind. Astrid looks cozy in the opposite corner, snuggling _his_ treacherous wolf. The thrill of almost kissing her is wearing off, his still tingling hand warm and charged while the rest of him sinks into bereft silence.

"Yeah," a boom of thunder shakes the shed and Toothless whimpers, hiding his head down the front of Astrid's jacket, she laughs lightly, stroking his ears. "He's scared of thunder?"

"His name _isn't _courage," Hiccup snarks bitterly, and Astrid sighs.

"What's your problem?" Her voice is small, and Hiccup shrugs, brushing off the weak attempt at bravado.

"I don't know," he lies, earning him a fierce glare. She's not stupid, she knows what his problem is. She doesn't really want him to tell her though, that gives the temporary elephant in the room a trunk to prod her with.

She really hopes _this _is temporary. The uneasy fluttering in her chest, the stabbing pain in her diaphragm every time she sees his drooping expression.

"It smells like wet dog in here," Astrid comments quietly in an attempt to steer everything back to normal. Hiccup shoots her a look, green eyes cutting through the darkness as his left foot begins tapping against the ground.

"You're holding a wet dog." Her answering glare is almost comical, with the smears of mud scattered across her face. "By the way, you've got some mud _here_." He waves a hand in front of his face, gesturing.

"You just gestured to my whole face." She starts frantically rubbing her cheek, before the motion dies down and she lets her filthy hand drop back to Toothless' fur. She has no reason to care if she's muddy around Hiccup.

"That didn't help, it just kind of smeared it around."

"I don't care." She shrugs, defiant and defeated as Toothless sits his bony butt in her lap, crushing her knee. He pants happily, eyes still wary with the occasional thunder.

"Well, it looks good on you," he tries to joke, but it comes out seriously even through his forced smirk. Astrid does her best to ignore his genuine tone, forcing down an inappropriate smile and bringing muddy fingers to her face, painting two more or less symmetrical lines across her cheeks.

"You like the war-paint look?" He can't help but laugh at her gloriously smudged face, and she smiles back, the air in the shed warming slightly.

"Ready for battle," he declares.

"We better be," her voice turns serious as she hugs Toothless tightly, "how are we going to get this together in two weeks?"

"I guess we might as well start planning," he pulls a soggy notebook out of the backpack, and a pen from his pocket, flipping it open to a dry page. "Because I really doubt we're getting down the mountain in this mess."

"You can say that again." Astrid's clammy jeans tug at the stubble on her legs as she shifts, trying to get comfortable beneath a hundred pounds of elbows.

"So, tomorrow, I'll talk to Gobber..." Hiccup starts and a plan falls into place, puzzle pieces drifting into their respective corners as Astrid comes back to life, prattling and planning alongside him, hands drawing looping shadows in the contrast.

00000

It's coming up on one-thirty in the morning as Astrid crouches beside Scott's basement bedroom window, knocking on the glass with a cold clammy knuckle, peering nervously into the upper floor and hoping that his parents are asleep. She brings a soggy sleeve to her face, doing her best to wipe the mud away, but failing miserably as the grit smears in a blurred line to one side of her cheek.

In a bout of frustration, she kicks the window with the point of her toe, shaking the glass in it's frame.

"Freaking telemarketers!" Scott grumbles, sliding the window open and sleepily glaring out into the night, his expression dissolving into confusion when he sees Astrid. She swings her legs through the window and lowers herself onto his floor, basking in the warmth inside the house.

"Hey babe," she whispers, taking her jacket off and hanging it from his closet doorknob, glad that it's dry enough not to leave a soaked patch of carpet beneath it.

"I thought you weren't coming over tonight," he mumbles, hugging her in a brutishly sweet way that almost makes her heart flip. "I already put the free-weights away, it was sleep time." His arms feel constricting around her shoulders and she slips out, unzipping her jeans and stepping out of them, leaning up and kissing Scott solidly on the mouth.

That's what she needed, the physical tether to reality anchors her feet to the ground, and she grabs his shoulder, fiddling with the seam of his shirt while her other hand desperately gropes for abs.

Scott, her boyfriend. Scott. She lets the words flow through her head like a mantra, wiping clean those uncomfortably vulnerable and fluttery feelings she'd suffered through all night.

"I need a favor," she pulls back from the kiss, breathless as he sleepily gropes her. She lifts his chin, looking into dull handsome eyes, strong chin digging into her fingertips.

"Anything babe," he's smitten, she can see it and her confidence swells to it's former size as she kisses him again, feeling ten feet tall and invincible.

"I need you to talk to the cheerleaders for me," his shirt comes off somehow, and he's nodding, and everything's dissolving into desperate sameness as she clings to Spike's smiling face in her head. She needs to talk about Spike.

Her shirt is gone, and she's cold, barefoot on the thin carpet.

"Cheerleaders?"

"Hiccup and I," his name catches in her throat and she kisses Scott hard, following him down down down into the nest of his warm comforter, "we need to get some dogs adopted," he looks at her curiously and she distracts him with a long thorough kiss, holding his attention with confused eyes. "And we need you to get the cheerleaders and football team to help." Her hand slips down past his stomach and he'll do anything, she can see it in his pleading expression.

Her ego feels like poison in her mind, but she's drunk on the power as she lets herself spiral into bitter normalcy.

00000

**Talk about…stuff. **

**Nevermind, this chapter was equal parts draining and rewarding, but it needed to happen. Just so you guys stay with me, the hike is a pseudo-parallel to the night ride scene, because I've been sort of stretching out the introduction to dogs over a dozen chapters. **

**But I did need a dramatic pivot point, as well as some…frustration, for later chapters. **

**You guys probably hate me right now, so I'll shut up, but I'd absolutely love to hear how I did in a review. You guys are fantastic as always, inflating the old ego and hurling plot bunnies at me. **

**Just so you know, every review makes my day, and I can't thank you all enough! **


	24. Chapter 24

**Warning, incredibly long chapter alert.**

00000

"Are you nervous?" Hiccup asks, sitting down on the grass beside Astrid as she cinches her racing flats to her feet, methodically tightening the laces and wiggling her toes until she's happy with the fit.

"No, why would I be nervous?" She snaps, and Hiccup doesn't flinch like he used to, steady in his seat.

"Because this is the meet you need to place in to qualify as an individual for State." He sarcastically jogs her memory, earning himself a penetrating glare.

"I know that," Her stomach churns and she wonders why he's torturing her. It probably has something to do with the fact that she spent the last three days nearly ignoring him, staying at Scott's house in the evenings, admittedly bored out of her mind.

She's past the point of feigning interest in anything the jock says, instead spending way too much time on her physics homework, staring daggers at every stupid Greek letter. She refuses to imagine Hiccup's voice when she reads the problems, even though his stupid nasally intonation makes worlds more sense than her own irritated tone.

She's never been so furious about missing someone.

"But you're not nervous?" He prods, his voice half a notch below aggressive. He'd rather have her pummel him than look _through_ him.

"You're annoying," she spits, ignoring the urge to slug him, because she has to avoid the idiotic tingle the contact will ignite in her hand. That foreign fuzzy sensation is the most infuriating thing she's ever felt, and she lets herself dwell on it, anger building up as fuel for her race.

Her voice is almost fragile betraying real nerves, as ridiculous as that sounds.

"I was just going to say that you don't need to be nervous." He backpedals courteously, shrugging nonchalantly before standing and offering a _friendly_ hand as they announce a ten minute warning for the varsity race. She stares at the hand for a moment, eyes narrowing before she grabs it, allowing him to help her to her feet. The gesture sends a lightning bolt to her shoulder and she rolls it uneasily, dropping his hand and wiggling her tingling fingers. "You're going to win, seriously."

The real agony is that Hiccup's comment is more bracing than anything Scott said all morning.

"Thanks, Hiccup," she mumbles, her chest tightening in anticipation of the race.

Not for any other reason.

She risks one glance back at him as she jogs up the hill, meeting Gobber and the other varsity girls at the starting line. Hiccup's turning the other direction, and walking towards the monstrous hill that encompasses most of the first mile, and Astrid shakes her head, clearing it.

Mostly.

Hiccup follows a couple of coaches up a shortcut path, coming to stand beside the official digital clock with the ever essential _blue_ stopwatch. He watches the clock intently, waiting for the gun so he can synchronize with the official clock. Timing isn't completely necessary, but it makes him feel useful if not reduntant to the computer chips on each runner's ankle.

"Hey Hiccup." A girly voice asks over his shoulder, and he turns, facing a skinny fifteen year old girl wearing too much makeup. She rocks on her toes and her miniskirt catches his momentary attention before he looks back at her face.

"Umm, hey?"

"What you did at the football game was really cool," she announces in a high, fake voice, and her bare legs are no longer mildly interesting. He turns back to the clock, anticipating the gun.

"Thanks," he mumbles, flinching at the gun and precisely starting the stopwatch, superstitiously crossing his fingers. He hopes Astrid had a good start, and that she's not as nervous as she looked.

Then again, she's Astrid Hofferson.

"I don't know if you saw me, but I was on the field, I thought you were pretty great." She slides up next to him, and he sighs, glancing over in her direction and resisting the urge to flinch from her expectant expression. Is this flirting? He really hopes not, because he resents being a desired status symbol for some social climbing sophomore.

He thinks she was the sophomore, anyway.

"Thanks," he deadpans, as uninterested as possible. She takes a step closer and he slides away, wishing that Astrid would run by soon. Then again, even she can't run a minute mile, no matter how much he wishes for a distraction. "Why are you here?" He finally asks, trying not to be rude, but really not caring if it comes across that way.

"To watch the race," she defends, popping onto her tiptoes and peering at the track, not so discreetly aiming her chest towards him. He resists the urge to roll his eyes, failing miserably. "And to see if you need any help managing."

"How'd you know I'm manager?" He asks, peering down at the pack and scanning the dirt for a front runner. He sees a white dot pulling away and can't help but smile. _There_ she is.

"Everyone knows."

"Of course, the collective everyone," he nods, checking the watch and keeping his eyes locked in on Astrid's slowly growing form. From this distance, her red face looks like the world's smallest tomato on a toothpick.

"What?"

"Never mind." He can't help but be relieved at her disinterest, but she's more stubborn than he'd hoped. She steps towards him, rubbing her shiny lips together and releasing them with a pop. Definitely flirting.

"Why are you way out here?" She peers over his shoulder at the stopwatch, using the position as an excuse to rest her chin in him. He awkwardly squirms away, feeling unwanted color rise to his cheeks.

Come on, Astrid.

The time on the watch is at 5:15, and he finally finagles himself free by stepping back to see the official time more clearly.

"I'm going to call out the runner's times so they can adjust their speed," he explains, feeling like a rabbit being stalked by an immature coyote.

"Can't they just read the clock?" He bristles at the shrill voice.

"They're already running, the least I can do is read a couple numbers."

"You're so nice," she gushes, stepping closer again, a hand landing on his chest in a supremely awkward excuse to touch him. Astrid tears around the corner, her chest heaving as she crests the hill. Hiccup twists away, focusing on the stopwatch, and almost missing her as she accelerates wildly, a dust cloud choking the air around him in her wake.

"6:07," he calls out, louder than normal as she's already breezing down the hill, legs moving furiously beneath her. She doesn't normally kick at the mile, and she's not behind her pace, given that the first third of the race was uphill…what is she doing? He looks worriedly at her back, and the girl beside him sighs.

"You do know she's dating Scott Nout, right?" The shrill voice is gone, if only momentarily and Hiccup cocks his head, shocked by the direct tone.

"Yeah…"

"So you should look elsewhere," she proposes, slathered with girlish charm.

"I'm not doing this to get a girlfriend."

"Then why—" The second Berk girl runs by, keeping pace with the first clump of runners and Hiccup cuts his unwanted conversation off with a time.

"6:31," a couple of girls in the group put their heads down, speeding forward, and the entire group disappears down the hill. However, their measured acceleration is nothing like Astrid's furious kick.

"Can I call the next one?" The girl asks, twirling her hair around her finger, and Hiccup hands over the watch, jumping when she takes the opportunity to stroke his finger.

"Be my guest." He stares up the race course, and sees Astrid catching the pace bike and charging towards the road, her legs frantic blurs. Seriously, what is she doing?

"…7:08," the girl yells, beaming at him like she's accomplished something great. He nods, smiling awkwardly with eyebrows raised. He glances over his shoulder at the visible green sign for the two mile, maybe a hundred meters up the hill. He dabbles, his worry for Astrid's erratic race usurping his guilt.

"So I thought of a way you can…er, help me?" He tries to be confident, but it tumbles into an awkward question. His smile is anything but dashing, and the girl looks at him unimpressed before beaming and nodding. "Can you finish this? There are seven girls, and we've seen three." He tells her, already walking backwards.

"Where are you going?"

"Up to the two mile mark…er, I guess you can meet me after…if you have t—want. If you want." He finishes, spinning around and jogging up the short hill, dangerously out of breath as he reaches the top. His inhaler feels familiar in his clammy hand as he takes a dose, his breathing relaxing as he glances at the clock before peering down the trail.

12:02, and Astrid's barely visible at the bottom of the hill, obviously struggling.

"Come on!" He shouts, his voice scraggy. He coughs and tries again, "12:08, Astrid!" She hears him that time and he sees her legs pick up pace, climbing the hill with lopsided strides. At this distance, he can see the wobble in her knee and he hides a grimace as the second place girl appears around the corner. "Come on, Astrid. She's right behind you." He yells at her, sounding harsher than he wants to, but not willing to let Astrid blow this for herself.

Astrid growls at Hiccup, only slightly shocked at the raw sound in her throat as she roars by, pushing herself down the final hill, envisioning the loop to the finish. Jesus, a 12:20 two mile? What's wrong with her today?

Her knee twinges with every step and she forces herself to run as normally as possible, having completely given up on air at this point. What was Hiccup doing _yelling_ at her, anyway? He was the one cavorting with some sophomore at the mile instead of doing his job.

Who does that girl think she is? The thought sends a surge of speed to her feet and her knee blazes, setting her anger on fire.

And he said that someone was catching up to her? Well, it's his fault anyway, if he'd been doing his job she wouldn't have had to sprint. The logic makes no sense, even to her endorphin drugged mind and she clenches and unclenches her hands, digging her fingernails into pulsing palms.

She's never been so happy to see the eight hundred in her life, and she bears forward, frustration peaking when her tank comes back empty. Maintaining is nearly impossible as she charges around the wide loop to the four hundred meters mark focusing dead ahead, the finish forming in her hazy eyes. She see Hiccup, inhaler in hand, jogging to wait by the finish, looking nervously past her and completely ignoring the girl who's still next to him.

A feeling of misplaced satisfaction floods her for all of two seconds before she hears the frantic pounding of someone catching up. She growls to herself, pushing forward with a gritting pain, as Hiccup's new _girlfriend_ grabs his elbow, mouth open in excitement.

Despair catches up to her as the pounding intensifies, and she digs deep. For the first time in years, she feels a wave of defeat crashing over of her, her legs tiring.

Hiccup thought she could do this.

She's letting him down.

But no, she's letting herself down with every ounce of energy left in her body. She's the one who can do this, no one else.

It's up to _her_.

Her feet fly across the grass, the pounding getting quieter, paling in comparison to the frantic tattoo in her head. She bowls through the tape at the finish, her jog pulling up short as her knee sends blinding twinges through her body. The girl finishing only meters behind her nearly knocks her over, her face a mask of frustration when she stops, waving Astrid ahead of her in a forced gesture.

Astrid can feel the unfamiliar mask of pain on her face as she hops through the chutes, her knee a throbbing crooked mess as an official accepts her timer. Before she can get _escape_, a man in an orange vest tugs her aside into the first aid tent. She gets a glimpse of the girl from earlier, talking to a visibly angry Hiccup.

"I—I'm fine," she gasps irritably, nearly crumpling at the sharp pain shooting through her leg when she tries to pull away from his direct grasp.

She has no choice in the matter as she's _put_on a bench inside the white plastic medical tent.

Hiccup comes wheeling through the door, showing the trainer his clipboard in a deeply official way and coming to stand beside her.

"Are you ok?" He asks, nervous and angry.

"Obviously not," she snaps, as the trainer picks up her foot, testing her range of motion, "Ow."

"That hurts?" The man asks clinically, prodding at the side of her knee as she grimaces.

"Seriously, what happened out there?" Hiccup asks, apparent fury fading into concern.

"Nothing, if you weren't too busy with your new girlfriend, you might notice that I won." She snaps, white knuckled hands clamping down on the edge of the bench as the trainer moves her lower leg side to side.

"Do—"

"If you two are going to argue, he needs to leave so I can get this knee taken care of," the trainer snaps, picking up a roll of tape from a table nearby, and glaring at Hiccup.

"I want him here." Astrid snaps at the room at large, a radiating ball of pained anger.

"So you can yell at me?" Hiccup asks, his harsh tone failing as Astrid flinches when hands come into contact with her inflamed skin.

"Maybe," she snips quietly, watching as the trainer encases her knee in spongy pre-wrap before stabilizing it with white fabric tape. He's pressing the end down gently on the inside of her knee, when a finisher collapses at the finish line, the girl behind her nearly tripping.

"Dammit," the trainer curses under his breath, addressing Hiccup in a rushed tone. "Get some ice on her knee," he points to a cooler in the corner, and looks at Astrid. "Weekend off, ice fifteen minutes an hour until it stops hurting." He rushes out of the tent, a race official helping him with the limp girl.

Hiccup is happy for something to do besides watch Astrid flinch at her own breathing, and he fills a Ziploc bag with ice, turning back to the regional champion just in time to see her attempt to stand on her own, wobbling dangerously before he can grab her elbow.

"Leave me alone," she gripes at him, jerking her arm away from his grip and nearly falling again before a firm hand on her ribcage sends stupid tingles down her spine. He ignores her, his hand steadying as he guides her out of the tent, his arm aching slightly from the awkward lean of her weight. "I said, leave me alone." She snaps, slightly louder, squirming to get at a better angle to punch him but stumbling painfully when he removes his hand and steps away from her attack. She looks at him accusatorily, fighting with gravity.

"Hey, don't look at me, you told me to leave you alone." She pouts, and tests her weight, looking down the finishing stretch to where an expectant and nervous Gobber is meeting her eye.

"Help me get over to Gobber." Hiccup stares at her incredulously.

"So you can hit me again?"

"Come on, Hiccup." She sighs, anger being replaced by pain every second she stands here on her own. She just needs to get off the leg, so she can heal, and be ready for State in a week. She's going to state. The last thought elevates her mood enough for the sting of weakness to be bearable, and she stares at the ground before looking up at Hiccup. "Can you _please_ help me get to Gobber?"

"Of course." Hiccup answers smugly, but her surely snappy retort is swallowed by a shallow sigh of relief as her arm over his bony shoulders takes weight off of her bad leg. He's a little tall to be a good crutch for her, but it's better than Scott being here. He'd probably make a huge scene and carry her, no matter how much she hates that. "Is she still looking at me?" Hiccup asks grimly after a moment of annoyingly slow limping, and Astrid glances the direction he gestures with his chin. The annoying girl is talking to a couple of younger runners warming up for their Junior Varsity race and staring Hiccup's way.

"Yeah," she mumbles, a shadow of her former fury welling up irrationally in her chest.

"I think she was flirting with me." He mumbles, embarrassed, and Astrid shoots him a look, hopping slightly to secure her arm back over his shoulders.

"You don't say."

"What?"

"She was obviously flirting with you," Astrid affirms, laughing at the horrified look on Hiccup's face.

"It was weird," he admits, cringing like he's chewing on a mouthful of bad sushi. Astrid looks at him curiously and he continues, "Well, I don't want _her_." She lets the words mull around in her head before nodding slowly, warming up uncomfortably despite the autumn chill.

She's never had an injury make her feel light-headed like this before.

"First off, are ye ok?" Gobber asks, bending down as soon as they reach him and inspecting Astrid's knee with a critical eye. She shrugs, leaning a little more heavily on Hiccup and hoping her coach won't notice.

"The trainer said to take the weekend off, and ice it." She does her best to sound cheery about the whole thing, and they look at her critically.

"No hills until State," he declares, much to her misplaced dismay, "an' actually take the weekend off this time." He adds, familiar with her tendencies to overdo…well, everything.

"Fine." Astrid gives in with a grimace, and Gobber pats her awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Now, don' be too hard on yerself. Yer kick is finally somthin'." He praises her in his uniquely brusque way, and she smiles slightly. "Now go on, git some ice on tha' before it really swells up. An' go get that she-beast for the game, if ye want anyone to come next weekend." He brushes the pair of them off with a clawed hand, and they limp back towards Hiccup's car in the parking lot.

After a childish argument ending in Astrid hopping into the car of her own accord, Hiccup climbs into his driver seat and pulls out of the parking lot, his hand warm on the back of her seat as he carefully backs out of the spot. She places the ice on her knee, hissing slightly as she relaxes into the seat, her head resting back.

Hiccup can't help but admire the delicate motion of her neck as she breathes carefully, closing her eyes and tapping her fingers on the door.

"You ok over there?" He asks, pulling onto the highway, glad that this meet happened to be on the west side of town.

"Eh, hanging in." She shrugs, breathing into the pain and shifting her knee, looking for a more comfortable position and finding none.

"We don't have to do this tonight," he admits grudgingly. Heck, he could go do it himself, but the thought of accepting the attention of everyone and their curious brother makes his blood curdle.

"I'm fine," she tries to snap, sighing irritably. "I'm not mad, I'm just—"

"Tired? In pain?" He finishes, and she nods.

"Yeah, that pretty much covers it," she admits, glad that he didn't make her say it out loud. Looking down on sensitivity is a thing of the past as she closes her eyes, breathing deeply into the safe air.

00000

"Come on, Mr. Thorston?" Astrid smiles rakishly at the tall blonde man selling football tickets, handing a crisp ten dollar bill his way. "It's only last half, not even the whole game."

"Astrid, no dogs, you know that." He tries to remain stern, but smiles a bit. "But good job today, I heard about that photo finish."

"Thank you," she grins at him, leaning more to the side of her good leg, but passing it off elegantly as a cocked hip. Hiccup marvels at her, the easy flip of her bangs as she pats Spike's smiling head. The dog's looking around at the strange place, ears twitching and tail wagging at the new sights and smells. "But seriously, it's for charity," she can see the mobility in his eyes, and she pushes forward, "I need it for my college applications, I'm 'this' close to Ivy League," she gestures with two fingers close together, and his face splits into a grudging grin as he refuses her bill.

"I didn't let you in, and I sure didn't sell you tickets," he grins at her and she walks off steadily as she can, stuffing her money back in her pocket.

"Thanks Mr. Thorston!" She calls over a sauntering shoulder and Hiccup follows, getting a slightly disappointed look from the man at the gate, like his burger is only half the size he expected. He misses the anonymity of being a nerd, only his father was ever disappointed in him.

As soon as Astrid is away from the gate, she drops the act, pulling up short and breathing sharply as she stands on her good leg. Hiccup almost steps forward to help, but she starts up again, smiling and playing with Spike's ear as she walks to the front row, ensuring there's empty space on the path in front of her before she sits down, discretely crossing her injured knee under her other one, protecting it from the world.

The cheerleaders are running off of the field, and a crowd points at Spike and Astrid, who waves cheerily, inviting the crowd at large to come see the dog. Scott looks up from the sidelines, his broad shoulders visible even in shoulder pads, and Astrid waves, her smile faltering slightly.

She didn't miss him at all. She dreads going back to his place.

Her face is stony before she can shove the thoughts to the back of her head, and she's jerked to reality by Hiccup's bony elbow in her ribs.

"Are you sure that you're ok to be here?" He asks, scooting slightly closer to her to make room for a couple of chattering girls to sit beside him, his shoulder brushing against Astrid's through the thick shoulder of her letter jacket.

He tries not to remember the last time she wore it, failing miserably as his hand lights on fire, remembering the slender curve of her wrist against his palm.

"I'm fine," she says through a new smile, waving at someone he's never seen before as people start to mill around Spike, cautiously petting her as they walk by, Astrid's presence making them both curious and brave.

It's completely organic, and marvelous from Hiccup's point of view, how the crowd forms, milling around and kneeling, stroking Spike's neck and graduates to letting her give them kisses. Eventually parents join the mass, looking first skeptically then approvingly at the glowing girl in the middle of the fuss.

She smiles, she praises Spike and gets her to roll over, initiating a massive belly-rub session. Astrid chats and grins, charming parents and students alike as they shake hands with the smiling pit-bull. Finally, a referee comes over before kickoff, asking for the crowd to disperse so that people will actually watch the game.

"And remember everybody, Spike and a bunch of other dogs like her are up for adoption, a week from tomorrow," she calls out, and kids excitedly chatter to mildly receptive parents.

The referee is smiling when he walks back to the center of the field, calling the coin toss and giving Berk High Vikings the first offense. Or whatever it's called.

Hiccup gives up on the game almost immediately, turning to an exhausted looking Astrid.

"That was pretty good," he complements her and she smiles lazily, rolling her eyes.

"I was just nice."

"Again, good acting," she punches him in the shoulder, settling towards him in an effort to get comfortable, her arm leaning against his. He glances down at the aluminum bench, analyzing the half inch gap between their thighs way more than is probably necessary.

Plus, it's more of an inch gap, accounting for his wallet in his front pocket.

"Is today over yet?" She asks quietly, stifling a yawn on the back of her hand. She shifts again, and the gap between their legs disappears as she leans more firmly against his side. He sits up stiffly, and she takes some of her weight back, both to his relief and disappointment.

"I'm just about ready for this week to be over," Hiccup admits, rubbing his own hand across his eyes before wiggling a hand at Spike, who licks his fingers calmly. She's being better than he could have anticipated, curling up on Astrid's feet and smiling at the crowd.

"Tell me about it." There it is again, her pointy shoulder digging into his bicep as she discretely leans against him. The crowd cheers and she perks up momentarily, clapping in a lackluster way that reeks of obedient participation. "I have a hot date with my bed and a bottle of ibuprofen." Astrid declares, smiling in show and waving at Scott, who excitedly waves back at her…and the twenty girls behind her.

Hiccup wonders if the other boy even knows what her real smile looks like.

She sags against him again, and he resists twin urges telling him to lean towards her and away from her with nearly equal determination. He resigns himself to being grudging furniture, relishing the feeling of Astrid's shoulder digging into his arm as her head lolls on her narrow neck. The grueling hours of ass numbing boredom pass all too quickly as he pretends not to notice the glorious contact.

The crowd erupts and Hiccup jumps at the suddenness of it, Astrid sitting up and looking at him both curious and relieved. Berk won.

"I'm going to go congratulate Scott." She uses his head, pushing herself to her feet and wobbling slightly as her knee slowly accepts a straightened position. He can see the swelling through the denim of her jeans.

"I should come with you," he announces, the sight of her tottering nearly intolerable.

Not that he likes being her crutch at all, he didn't get any joy out of wrapping his arm medically around her back. For medical reasons.

"No, I'll be fine," she rubs her shoulder, which is somehow more alive than the rest of her. She hopes he didn't notice her leaning, but the look on his face dispels that unbelievably quickly. It doesn't feel like a mistake, like it should. She just feels…normal as she stands, wrapping the end of Spike's leash around her fist. "I'll bring Spike back up in a minute."

"How about I come get her," Hiccup suggests, eyeing her leg with utmost suspicion.

"Whatever you want," She takes a wincing step and looks back, "Yeah, ok, come get her." Astrid forces herself into a nearly normal walk, her knee balking at the peak of every step as she leads Spike down onto the sidelines, waiting for Scott to come over from where he must be _thanking_ the group of cheerleaders by the fifty yard line.

The stars in their eyes don't awaken her normal anger, but she writes it off as exhaustion, leaning against the base of the stadium wall and waving when he looks her way. He jogs over, stopping a few feet in front of her and taking off his helmet, his black curls dripping masculine sweat over his face like a cologne commercial.

Her heart stops short of its usual flip, feebly twitching in her chest like a dying worm.

"Great game," she starts, and he nods with a wide smile.

"That's the most yards I've thrown this season," he brags, tucking his helmet under his arm, and grinning proudly. "And we're going to play-offs!" The happiness exhausts her and she nods obediently, the last bit of bubbliness fading from her pores. "Oh yeah! Good job at regionals babe, I heard you almost lost."

"Thanks for that."

"But you didn't lose," he announces, the grin never fading from his seamlessly white teeth. She idly thinks that he'd be more _handsome_ if he weren't so perfect, the Clark Kent look is boring.

"Thanks," the awkward silence of the last few nights rushes back full force, and she fumbles with the leash in her hand. "Want to meet Spike?"

"Uhh…" Scott nervously looks at the grey dog, shrinking with ignorant fear, "when you said dogs I thought you meant like…pugs."

"Come on, she's much prettier than a pug," Astrid urges, and the rose hue falls away from her eyes with his cowardliness.

"But, I mean, aren't you scared of her?" He asks, and she looks at him, incredulous.

"Why would you think that?"

"You were kind of lean-y on that Hiccup guy earlier." The comment carries the stab of an innocuous accusation and she crosses her arms. "I figured it was because you were scared."

"I was not lean-y," she defends, her voice unconvincing, and she backpedals, "he's my human crutch. I drafted him. I hurt my knee."

"I'll be your human crutch," Scott offers, tentatively leaning down and patting Spike's head. She closes her eyes at the strange ham-hock thumping her, glancing at Astrid impatiently.

"You're too tall." Between her dog's irritated expression and Scott's infuriating…everything, she nearly barks at him, voice rough.

"I'll just carry you babe," he offers, and she should swoon.

"You know I hate that," she's not a cat, she's a person.

"Come on babe, it's a joke," he steps closer, smiling, dipping his head for a kiss. Her hand flies up between their faces, seemingly acting of its own volition, his damp lips crashing into her palm. He looks at her incredulously, like he's never seen her before and she blinks, brain reeling.

"N-not until after the State meet. I need to focus." A weight she didn't know that she was carrying slips off her shoulders, and her eyes brighten instantly with the knowledge that she doesn't _have_ to kiss him right now. "Yeah. Focus, and you need to focus on play-offs." Relief washes over her in droves at his grudging acceptance.

That's fine, right? To want a break from having to _touch_ her boyfriend?

00000

Astrid is miserable, reclining on her bed with her still taped knee elevated as she tries to read a rare English book in which she has absolutely no interest. She doesn't get Dickens, why can't he just spit it out? She wants to beat up whoever thought it was a good idea to pay authors by the word.

Her knee twinges randomly and she grinder her teeth, willing the swelling away and wishing she'd kept her bottle of Advil with her when she lay down. It's really not worth getting up and hobbling down the hall to the bathroom, so she stuffs another pillow under her knee. If the swelling would just disappear, she'd be fine.

If that idiotic sophomore had just disappeared after homecoming in the first place, she'd never have gotten hurt. It feels cheap in an unfamiliar guilty way to blame some random girl for her misery, but she ignores it. The last thing she needs right now is to be thinking about how she messed up her knee and almost blew the second most important race of the season.

The last thought buzzes around her head like a fly that can't find the cracked window.

She's reasoning through a particularly wordy paragraph when she hears the garage door creak open, followed by eerily light footsteps on the tile. By the relatively subtle crunch and swear accompanying what sounds like struggling with the door, she judges him maybe ten beers in to his latest bout of stupidity.

Great, sober enough to walk, her least favorite level of drunk. She double checks her lamp, making sure that it's aimed so that no stray light is leaking under the door, and gets back to reading. All she wants to do is go to sleep, but she's ridiculously behind from spending all of that infuriating time on physics at Scott's house, and she has an essay due on Monday.

In the middle of the most horrendous sentence known to man, her bedroom door swings open, banging against the wall behind it. She jerks upright, catching herself on her hand as her face falls into an innocent mask.

"I heard you won today," the elder Hofferson grumbles, a smarmy inebriated smile on his face. Astrid blanches, her jaw jutting to keep from shaking as she answers.

She doesn't want to do this tonight. She _can't_ do this tonight, not with her knee throbbing a samba.

"I did. It was close, but I pulled it off."

"A little too close," the smile melts into a cowl and she lets her knee fall off the pillow, masking her flinch as she tucks her taped joint discreetly under a blanket, hoping he didn't notice. "According to USC."

"You've talked to USC?"

"The scout said he might be interested in you, if you continued to excel." She's torn between misplaced happiness and revulsion at his involvement. "He didn't know about the knee until today though." He gestures towards her poorly hidden knee and it twinges in response.

"My knee is fine, just over-exerted." Her calm voice rings in her ears, as she's forced for the first time to try and _talk_ her way out of a corner.

"Have I told you how much like your mother you are?" The words cut like knives, but she keeps her face placid. "Smart. Athletic. She was a looker too…and a liar," he finishes, shutting her bedroom door behind him. Sound dampening. An invisible hand clamps around her heart, squeezing until she feels like it's going to pop.

"I have State on Friday. I won't lose." She promises, her bravado covering her trembling voice.

"I think you need some motivation. That scout isn't as impressed as he could be." He steps forward.

"I have motivation. Trust me, I want that scholarship more than you know." She sounds tough, her voice defiant and strong. No one can hear her lungs quaking like leaves in the wind. She can't run, she can't fight.

"So you can abandon me too?" Another step.

"Don't do this." Step. Her eyes itch like bee stings, and she swallows hard. "Please, don't do this." She remembers when he took her to the zoo. This man held her hand at her first dentist appointment.

"Please?" He laughs, a cruel cold sound that makes her long for the days when she felt nothing. Then she didn't have to feel this. She remembers having a family, making s'mores on a camping trip, and she hates Hiccup for every cursed emotion he ever awakened. "Please? At least you used to fight like me, now you're going to beg like your mother?" She blocks the first slap with a forearm before taking a hit to the side, groaning at the thud of impact.

"Please. Don't do this." It's a mantra. It's what she has left. He shoves her flat on her back, knocking the wind out of rapidly constricting lungs.

Please.

She used to be someone who didn't ask nicely. She used to be alone in the world.

Both are equally awful.

00000

**So a writing frenzy happened, and this came to be, it was super long, but after editing it for length, I liked it too much to trim it down, and I wanted this chapter ending…so here you guys go, sorry about the length if it bothers anyone. **

** , are we brain buddies? I seriously was just done with my writing frenzy that framed the chapter, when I read your review and got really confused. Did you sneak into my frontal lobe or something? Or did the aliens install a two way network…anyway, I acknowledge your ideas (which I obviously liked).**

**Anyway, thanks for the continued wonderful support, and I hope that this chapter lives up to the others! **


	25. Chapter 25

00000

Clean. She needs to get clean.

Astrid stumbles to the bathroom, locking the door and throwing her clothes to the floor in a mad panic, dry useless sobs forcing their way out of her aching chest. She punches a week's worth of birth control out of its foil packet, forcing herself to swallow the chalky mess, as if it'll help her feel pure again.

She imagines that the bandage on her knee reeks of the meek horror recently experienced, and she claws at it with her fingers, opening long gashes with her nails, ignoring the blood that runs down her shin and pools on the floor around her foot.

When the tape is _finally_ on the ground in shreds, she climbs under scalding hot water, scrubbing her skin raw until the blood from her oozing knee has stained the textured plastic floor of the shower stall a grisly pink.

Sobs echo in the tile room, sounding ten times more alien than they already do tearing their way out of her throat.

She doesn't slow down to dry herself off, slumping back to her desecrated bedroom and tugging on the first clothes she can tolerate against her abused body. The gray sweats feel like a distant hug and the tee-shirt almost chokes her as it settles against her contorting neck. The cotton is instantly soaked by her mess of wet hair, and she pulls on flip flops, shivering under the breeze of her ceiling fan.

Grabbing her keys and cell phone, she limps to the garage, trying to stop her damp flip flops from squeaking on the entryway tile as she slips out of the door, thumb running on autopilot. She dials Hiccup's phone number, double checking the time with a frown. It's only 12:00, but it feels like eons since she left the game.

"Hello?" Hiccup isn't groggy, his voice confused as he answers the phone, TV blaring in the background.

"C-can I come over?" The stutter slips past her blubbery tongue as she forces her voice smooth, failing with a quivering breath. She coughs wetly, and she can hear the groan of leather as Hiccup stands up from the couch.

"Astrid? What's wrong?" She can hear him pick up his keys, and she's never felt so guilty in her entire life.

"I need to get out of here," she answers honestly, hyperventilating as she drives too quickly down her street. Her knee throbs with every exaggerated heartbeat and she glances at her wild eyes in the rear view mirror.

Her face is _perfect_, and she resents the fact that he didn't need to knock her teeth out to get what he wanted.

"Calm down," Hiccup instructs over the phone, and Astrid recognizes the voice as the one he uses on anxious dogs. She feels like a crazed animal. Her guttural emotions overflowing rational compartments in her brain as she responds to the soothing tone, breathing deeply. "Do I need to come get you?"

"I don't want to wait that long. I'm on my way," her voice is newly steady and she rubs the back of her hand over her still stinging face, wiping away shameful wet.

"Ok," she hates the dread in his voice, and wants to tell him that she's fine and it's just normal teenage issues. She wonders what fine is, and if she's ever truly experienced it.

"I'll be there in twenty."

Hiccup hears tires crunching in the driveway, and quiets Toothless, who has been pacing anxiously ever since Astrid called. The dog looks up at him with utmost concern, laying down and panting nervously as uneven footsteps approach the door.

He didn't expect her to take him up on his offer as back-up, and as glad as he is that she isn't sticking it out, he feels anything but dependable. Her shoulder digging into him at the game seems like a distant and wonderful memory.

She doesn't bother knocking, slumping into the room seemingly soaking wet with a scary red patch spreading through the fabric around her wounded knee. Protective instincts kick in as he stands, Toothless whimpering his concern before walking over and smelling Astrid's knee. The wolf dabs at the blood and looks at Hiccup anxiously.

"What happened?" He doesn't see any bruises, but something has changed in her eyes, and he glances back down to her knee. He's never seen her look…defeated.

"Oh that?" She lifts her leg, which at least seems to be less stiff than it was earlier in the evening. "I had to get the tape off." She leans over, peeling the cuff of the sweats up to her thigh and frowning at the dozens of deep gouges around her knee. Hiccup's eyes widen as he takes a cautious step closer, examining the still bleeding wounds.

"You didn't have scissors?"

"I didn't want to go find scissors," she snaps, almost as mean as normal, letting the pant-leg fall back down. Its blood soaked fabric clings to her leg as Toothless paces nervous circles around her feet.

"I'm going to go find you a Band-Aid…or fifteen," he mumbles nervously, hand clenching painfully in his own hair as he disappears down the hallway. What the hell did he sign himself up for?

Sometimes it's easy to forget that this Astrid exists, beneath the beauty and charm, underneath the callous remains a raw wound. He grabs a box of fabric Band-Aids in his shaking hand, tucking a couple of gauze pads in between his fingers before shutting the medicine cabinet door and pacing back to the living room.

Astrid is sitting on her designated spot on his couch, pants leg above her knee as she prods at the raw flesh, grimacing slightly. She looks up at him with a frown, gesturing to the injury.

"I didn't realize I messed it up this much," she admits, relatively unperturbed despite all the blood. He crosses the room, sitting down next to her and showing her the bandages. He leans closer, inspecting the damage and smirking grimly.

"You need to trim your fingernails or something." She laughs quietly, and Toothless cocks his head at her, confused. He's never heard happy noises in the same room as blood smells.

"Probably," She turns, scooting back against the arm of the couch and setting a barely bent leg on the leather between them, looking at the scratches more clinically than she had been. "It's not so bad though. I mean, only three of them are very deep." He leans over, nodding in reluctant agreement, unable to keep himself from admiring her psychotic resilience.

"I'm going to buy you some nail clippers," he vows, pulling a bandage out of the box and fiddling with its paper wrapper. He opens it and carefully presses it on a still bleeding scratch on the inside of her knee, looking up at her with concern. She looks at the bandage, feeling simultaneously cared for and fantastically ashamed.

She's going to punch the next person who laughs about Hiccup. Or looks at him funny.

Maybe his dad would be a good place to start her redemption.

She presses the gauze to the bulk of the damage, shaking fingers struggling to unwrap a bandage until Hiccup gently pries it from her hand. She doesn't stop him, watching silently as he carefully sticks the pad to her knee using bandages as tape. His fingers move carefully, pulling back when she can't help but hiss with discomfort, her knee still injured beneath its superficial damage.

"What happened?" He asks again, voice low and comforting in the dark. The tone peels off a layer of chill and her damp shoulders relax slightly, her chin dipping towards her chest.

"I had to get the bandage off," she explains lamely, toes twitching as he nudges an especially tender patch. He looks up at her meaningfully, not accepting the explanation and she sighs shakily. "Look, do we really have to talk about it?"

"No, but—"

"It wouldn't make you feel better to hear," she tells him, that disturbing glaze of fragility in her eyes. "It would make everything worse."

"Not telling me isn't making anything better." He doesn't know where his bravery is coming from, and he focuses on her wounds, breaking her down into layers of tissue in his eyes. Torn epidermis being patched with platelets is easier to deal with the unusually broken girl in front of him.

"No, it's not," She sighs, rubbing her face harshly with her palm. "I just…it doesn't need to be said." He doesn't know who he's protecting when he doesn't push the issue.

Her eyes trace his careful hands, letting them replace the horrid image of the last hands she saw. He touches her naturally, with enough pressure to let her know that she's respected. The only thing that could make tonight worse would be some sort of finicky twitchy contact.

She finds herself craving the unlikely stability he's providing, leaning back against the arm of the couch and watching him work.

She wonders if he still _likes_ her. She wonders why the question doesn't make her miserable.

Fishlegs seemed pretty sure, but it seems like everything she does somehow puts him through a ringer. Her thoughts burst out into the room before she can stop herself, wiping the air of the former conversation.

"Fishlegs told me that you…um, like me." Hiccup ducks his head, focusing on a bandage wrapper like it's the most interesting gearbox he's ever seen.

"He told me that he told you," he answers diplomatically, and she wonders if he learned that from her.

"Why?" He glances up at her confused.

"To try and keep me from making an ass of myself…" How should he know why Fishlegs told him that he revealed his crush?

"No," she hisses lightly as he brushes up against a tender spot, and his hand jerks back respectfully. "Why do you like me?"

"Now? Or…" He refuses eye contact, voice squeaking slightly.

"I don't know. Why did you ever like me?" Does that mean that he doesn't like her any longer? Her chest constricts, stomach cramping at how awful that seems.

"You were almost as smart as me," he answers simply, and in the quiet honesty of the moment, she can't bring herself to cut him off and refute the statement. "Still are, I guess. But you did it with so much flair." His voice is nostalgic but sad as he adjusts a Band-Aid, wiping sticky dried blood off of her shin with a Kleenex from the coffee table. "And of course, you're pretty. And athletic, and everything I always wanted to be." She smiles, dwelling for once on why his complements mean more than Scott's.

"You always wanted to be pretty?" She asks, and he snorts, hand bumping against her calf.

"I'm a horrible influence, can't you take anything seriously?" Either he's no longer one of ice queen Astrid's belittled subjects, or she's abandoned her frozen throne.

"Well, I'm extremely serious about removing athletic tape," she jokes again, punch drunk giddiness seeping through the torn sieve, overpowering the misery her situation for a moment. Hiccup noticed her for more than her face. He recognized her brain long before she ever talked to him, and the friendship feels solidified as she sloughs off the last vestiges of doubt.

Not to mention the fact that he's still _here_ after all she's put him through. She glances at his wrist, its unhealthy slenderness almost gone along with the cast's strange tan-line.

"No kidding." He gives his handiwork one last check before looking up at her, shyness eclipsed by curiosity. He likes this layer of the girl, the funny and _real_ one he glimpses more every day.

"I'm sorry," she smiles apologetically, voice sincere as she points to his wrist with a shaky hand.

"I know." He shrugs, "I'm not." She looks at him curiously, brows furrowed, and he can't help but imagine cogs turning in her brain, processing and over-processing his words. "It started…this, didn't it?"

"What is this?" She asks, her foot unreasonably warm where it's touching up against his hip, bony even through jeans.

"New." Hiccup answers definitively, and Astrid has to admire the word choice, smiling quietly. He didn't say anything about friends, and this feels…different from friends anyway. At least it feels different in the middle of the night with the memory of tender fingers still tickling at her shin.

"Definitely." She pokes his side with her toes, shoving him towards the edge of the couch and embracing the wobble in her knees at the contact. It's ok, this once. It makes her feel way more alive than she deserves to be. "Go find your own couch, I'm going to sleep," she announces and he stands, pointing down a long drafty hallway.

"You could use one of the guest rooms, you know. No one ever goes in there." She shakes her head.

"I'd rather sleep where people live," she mutters dismissively, thinking of her own house where her father is practically waiting to die, filling his resume for the flight to Hell. Hiccup brushes off the odd statement as exhaustion, or worse _poetry_, and pats his leg, summoning Toothless to follow him.

"Let's go to bed, bud." The dog stands, obviously sleepy as he gives Astrid's low hanging face one syrupy lick before slumping off after Hiccup, fierce toenails tap shoes on the hardwood floor.

The stubborn warm tingling in her knee lets her forget about the pain long enough to drift into a restless sleep.

00000

"What sounds better, 'poor soul' or 'valiant dead'?" Astrid asks, clicking her pen furiously with twitching fingers. They're spending a cloudy Wednesday night in the high school computer lab finishing their mythology project, rather than worry about the night before its Monday due date. Their presentation will likely be sometime next week, but for Astrid, nothing exists past her meet on Friday.

"I have no idea," Hiccup's concentrating, pink tongue peeking out as he hypes furiously, " the first one is just depressing." He narrows his eyes, skimming through lines of code, looking for the mysterious glitch that's been screwing him over since early that morning. "Then again, the second one is exactly a bucket of daisies either."

"Urgh," she grunts, kicking the couch with her good heel, her other leg stretched out before her on another computer chair, sore after practice. "Really helpful Hiccup."

She just had her last practice before the state meet, because she's under strict instructions to take Thursday off. Stupid trainer. Her knee is fine when she's running, it only hurts when she stops and sits down, but even that's getting better.

"What?" He glances up at her, wondering why she's snapping at him. Over the last few days, it's become a slightly less common occurrence, now rare enough to require examination. "I don't know how—"

"I just can't get the freaking conclusion right," She taps her fingers angrily on her computer's keyboard, throwing gibberish onto the screen.

"I read it yesterday," Hiccup shrugs, "it was fine." That earns him a fierce glare, as Astrid resumes abusing her poor pen.

"You're ok with fine?" Her voice is judgmental, making him reflexively wary. "I'm not."

Click click click click click click.

"Can you stop with the pen?" He snaps, wiping a hand over his face and pulling himself out of his code, eyes blearily taking in Astrid's frustrated expression. She stares him down, clicking twice more for good measure before setting the pen down on the desk next to her mouse. "Ok, so what's the horrible issue with our conclusion?"

"Ok, ready?" He nods as she scrolls to the right place on the page, clearing her throat before reading aloud. "The Valkyries carried out their mission, sweeping the vanquished—"

"Whoa, you're asking me about _this_ part?" He recognizes the words from his review of the paper the night before. "Completely over my head."

"But, I just want to get it perfect," she asserts, her eyes slightly crazy as she holds her finger to the screen, keeping her place to continue reading when he gives her the chance.

"I think it's fine," he reiterates, running his code with a nonchalant Ctrl+Shift+Q and letting his eyes drift to the screen, silently celebrating when it _finally_ compiles without error. "Plus, you asking me about phrasing or whatever is like me asking you to help me with quantum physics."

"Are you saying that I couldn't help you with quantum—" She stops her angry question in its tracks, feeling sheepish. "Right." Hiccup smirks in her direction and the corners of her mouth tickle, trying to force themselves into a grin.

"I'm seriously sure that it's fine," he assures her, shrugging as an unheard of cocky smile spreads across his face. "Plus, I just finished the presentation, and it's great." She shoots him a serious look, failing to ignore his gap-toothed grin.

He looks like he had braces, but could never bring himself to wear a retainer.

"But if the paper sucks—"

"Then the presentation will carry the grade, any day," he finishes cheekily, and Astrid crosses her arms, glaring at him. "At least watch it before you rip my arms off," he waves her over, and after a long hard stare, for solidarity's sake, she rolls over, her heel dragging her second chair as she comes to sit next to him, looking over at his screen. The strange look of windows catches her attention and her eyes narrow.

"Is this even PowerPoint?" The rubric _insisted_ on PowerPoint.

"Yeah, with a ton of visual basic," he simplifies, the idea of explaining anything programming related to Astrid painful.

"Don't even try explaining that to me," she seconds his thoughts, leaning back in her chair and bumping into his armrest. He scoots over to give her some room and she twists, elbow on the back of her chair. He leans forward to reach the keyboard, her long blonde ponytail tickling his shoulder as he clears his throat, pressing play on the slideshow.

Astrid can't help but be impressed, the pictures are legitimately animated, what with white clad Valkyries ascending from clouds floating behind concisely worded slides.

"Wow," She allows herself to admit, watching him click through the slides. She notes that he used the exact maximum allowed in the rubric and for a millisecond she feels completely in tune with him.

"Thanks," he's grinning so hard his cheeks hurt, watching his labor of love come together.

The last frame makes Astrid laugh, it shows a couple of stunning Valkyries carrying a distraught looking scrawny fellow into the sky.

Truthfully, he could not look less excited to prepare for Ragnarok.

"Nice," she comments, sitting up slightly straighter as he exits the slideshow. Her arm comes unglued from his and leaves a charged sliver of air in its wake, tugging on her elbow like a magnet as she scoots back to her corner of the couch. "You know, I hadn't ever actually thought about what they were supposed to _look_ like." Astrid muses, settling and pulling her laptop onto her legs.

"What do you mean?" He happily saves and log off of his computer, scooting back from the desk. She shrugs.

"I guess I was imagining battle hardened giantesses, or Odin's sullen teenage daughters," Hiccup looks at her incredulously, deeply curious but also terrified of what comes out of her mouth sometimes. "I never thought of them as…" she ignores his stare as best she can, searching her brain for the right words, "beautiful or noble. But still rotten, ya know?" His eyes go blank, and she tries again, struggling for words. "They still have this shit job where they have to take people from their families." He shrugs, left behind and clueless in her maze of symbolism. "Never mind."

It's like waxing poetic to a wall…although at least this wall has a window, unlike Scott's expressionless cinderblock.

"I said they reminded me of you," He interjects, his eyes immediately widening at the admission. He never means to say these _things_, they just tumble out of his mouth and make him look like an idiot. "I mean…not the rotten part—Agh, no," Astrid looks at him curiously and the librarian looks up from her desk, judging his chatter. "The part where you have a shit job to do…because—Nevermind." He sighs.

He is an idiot.

He really really is.

"Did you just call me _noble_? Or beaut—" Astrid asks, raising her eyebrows. The entire room feels warm and she glances at thermostat on the wall, telling herself that's all that's causing the heat, faulty ducts or something. Sure, Hiccup called her _pretty_ the other night, but he was talking about…_old_ Astrid. It means more when she's sitting here with her knee in a brace, post run mascara smudged around her eyes.

"Both," he cuts her off, his voice panicked as he stares into his lap. "I guess." Half of her wants to get mad at the almost cruel indecision, but the louder half is…flattered. She lets herself admit the emotion, warmth flowing through her body. The noble thing is new, and she wants to believe it more than she thought possible.

"Oh—umm," she starts, stumped but oddly delighted as her fist reflexively connects with his shoulder. He flinches. "Thanks." Her hand tingles from the contact as she turns back to her computer.

He's _sweet,_ she realizes, and the thought makes her feel truly strange. She hates sweet on principle, traded it in as soon as she could for cashing in on hardness and fire.

Then again, she also gave up thanking.

She works with the paper maybe another half an hour, adjusting sentences and editing with a fine toothed comb to finagle the word count under the required maximum. She's still not overjoyed with the state of the concluding paragraph, but even she can admit that Hiccup was right about the strength of the presentation.

Plus, she's more exhausted from practice than she can remember, rehabbing her knee taking it out of her. Good news is she's cleared to run on Friday, bad news is no one knows how fast.

"I'm calling this done," she declares, hitting save multiple, superstitious times before logging off of the computer and shoving herself away, her good foot finding her foot rest as she relaxes.

"Finally," Hiccup jokes, running on autopilot as he works through a triple integral problem. The math is helping hold his head together after his accidental comments earlier, and he ignores his likely bruising deltoid in favor of spherical coordinates.

Sometimes, math is the only part of his life that makes sense.

"How goes math?" She asks, genuinely curious, leaning over to peek at his notebook and immediately wishing she hadn't. "Ugh, there are integrals within integrals?" She exclaims, genuinely horrified, and he laughs at her disgusted face.

"Yeah, they're not so bad tho—"

"You're taking this class on purpose?" He nods, not seeing the problem with the situation that she finds so obvious.

"Sometimes Hiccup…" She trails off, pulling her own Calculus book out of her backpack and turning it open to her comparatively easy homework.

He truly likes _math_? Of all horrid subjects? Sometimes she doubts that Hiccup is the same species as her.

Not to mention that he'll call her _beautiful_ and _noble_, then just sit there infuriatingly stagnant. Not that she wants him to do anything about it, she can't even fathom what that would be, but the quiet honesty unnerves her.

Truthfully, she's really not sure what she thinks about _sweet_, but she fears the mysterious thought isn't as negative it should be.

She taps her pencil against the page of her book; staring blankly at a polynomial and trying to keep her brain alert long enough to answer the problem. She's finally understanding, scrawling across her homework sheet with precise numbers when she hears Hiccup's heavy book fall off of the desk, landing on the floor with a too loud clunk.

Everyone else in the room looks over with a rustle of abandoned homework, and a couple of them snicker. Astrid turns around in her seat, glaring at the room at large.

Most of the kids quietly go back to their work, but a couple scan between Hiccup and Astrid, curious expressions shut down only with a mimed punch on her part. A particularly brave jock-y boy holds her gaze, and she turns around fully.

"Is there a problem, Jack?" She asks flippantly, and Hiccup looks at her incredulous as the unfortunate flush starts to drain from his cheeks.

"No, Astrid." The kid answers, his broadly handsome face confused.

"Write your term paper." She snaps, turning back to her homework and ducking her head. Hiccup looks at her disbelievingly, and she shrugs, "You can't let people walk over you like that."

"They weren't walking over me," he defends, flush threatening to reappear, "it was more of a tip-toe…" She raises her eyebrows and he sinks down in his chair, smiling meekly. "Thanks, Astrid."

"What are friends for, right?" She can't help but smile back, letting her bangs hide her face as she returns to her homework.

00000

**So, tell me how you guys like it! I wonder if I scared some of you guys off with last chapter's length, but the reviews I did get were absolutely glowing for the most part, and I can't thank you guys enough. **

**Othewise…I'm just going to tell you guys to be excited for the next chapter…it's a leap, to say the least. **


	26. Chapter 26

**Quick public service announcement: **

**Yes, Astrid was **_**more**_ **than physically abused by her father. From the beginning of the story, there have been comment about her unhealthy opinions towards sex and intimacy, and now we all know why. I know it's awful, but sadly this stuff does happen, and it is a viable reason for her irrational tendencies towards violence, attention, and control. **

00000

Astrid stretches, her quad stubbornly loosening as she grips her foot against her backside. Her knee twinges, but she's able to ignore it. As much as she hates to admit it, the trainer was right, the day off of running did wonders, and she's feeling worlds better today. The scratches around her knee itch like crazy, and she hopes that means the last few scabs will fall off soon.

She sighs, watching the boys' race start from her position on a nearby hill and cringing as her heart rate jumps through the ceiling. Nervous is ridiculous. She has no need to be nervous. It's just a race, just 3.1 miles. There's absolutely nothing alarming about it.

Everyone is expecting her to be…weak, and she's going to surprise them all. She hopes.

No, she doesn't need to hope. She will.

She's lost in her thoughts, stretching carefully, when the other six varsity girls shock her by forming a loose stretching circle around her.

"Hey Astrid," one of them greets, obviously a little nervous herself. Astrid should snap at them, it makes perfect sense for her to snap…except it doesn't. They're just here to race, just like her. She wonders exactly how many times she's snapped at people who didn't deserve it, and hopes it's not as high as she fears. The group of them looks at her expectantly, and she recognizes their expressions as searching for leadership.

She highly doubts that she's qualified.

"Hey…guys," she answers, sitting down and leaning over to touch her toes. The damp grass soaks through the back of her uniform shorts and she can't help but glance at the western sky, hoping it doesn't start to rain until after she's done running.

"Are you nervous?" Another girl asks, and Astrid does her best shrug.

"No," she scowls, and they all lean back slightly. She recognizes their expressions as fear and guilt settles in her chest. She backpedals, shrugging, "maybe."

"Is it your knee?" The first girl asks again, looking at the tape around her leg, curious about the purple scratches, but saying nothing.

"No…well, maybe a little bit," she admits, the peculiar cross of nerves and exhaustion rendering her wall penetrable. "I haven't pushed it, so…" The understanding in their eyes is like looking into a mirror and she can't help but feel inexorably supported.

"I know the feeling," a petite redhead commiserates, stretching her hamstrings. "I ran league last year coming off an ankle injury."

"How'd that go?" Astrid can't help herself, and taking interest feels better than stubborn aloofness.

"Second team all-conference," the girl shrugs, "but I'm no Astrid Hofferson." Astrid looks at her curiously and she shrugs, "dude, you're a legend. I puke at the _thought_ of breaking 23 on the Berk Bolt." Astrid can't help but feel a rush of wholly deserved pride.

"I heard you run hills for _fun_," another one says, radiating respect, and Astrid can't help but grin.

"Are you kidding me? Evergreen is my playground," she claims the foothill town and all of its fabulous inclines.

"You are insane," a few of them murmur, and Astrid smiles, prying her athletic tape out of her gym bag and taping her toes.

"Well, you guys have been running well too," she admits, remembering glancing at Hiccup's all important clip board on the bus ride down. Her eyes automatically divert to the sidelines of the finish, and the distinctive mop of auburn hair. She stares a moment too long before shaking her head clear and staring back at her feet. "We might have a chance at a team award, this year."

"Well, considering your chances of winning…" One of the girls suggests, and they all laugh. The ensuing chatter is strangely comforting as Astrid lets herself relax, the unorthodox pre-race preparation a strangely welcome change in her routine. There's something soothing about the friendly chatter, echoing her familiar internal dialogue about shoes and starts and finishing kicks.

About five minutes later, after her flats are on and she's bending and unbending her leg, warming the joint, an all too familiar nasally voice breaks haze.

"10 minutes guys," Everyone gets the hint, hefting to their feet and walking towards the starting line, easy conversation dissolved into nervous comforts. "Umm, Astrid." Hiccup steps up beside the blonde, and she looks at him curiously, blue eyes undefended. The nearly dreamlike site makes him forget what he has to say, and she smirks at him incredulously.

"Yeah Hiccup?" She sighs, misplaced nerves finding their way back into her expression. "Spit it out."

"Oh. Yeah. Just…run fast." She laughs nearly humorlessly, a tense smile on her face.

"Any other wisdom?" He smiles at the question, shrugging embarrassed. "Because I hadn't thought of that gem."

"Remember, you've run faster than anyone else here," the mathematical rationality in his voice actually helps the vice of nerves clamped around her chest and she sighs. "And remember that no one is expecting anything," he glances at her knee, and she can't help but grin because one person doesn't see it as a weakness.

"Thanks Hiccup," she glances at her feet, doing a double take at his eager to please expression. It's a complete impulse when she turns and hugs him, arms wrapping around scrawny shoulders briefly before she pulls back with a stubborn smile and jogs to catch up with the rest of the girls. She doesn't know what to make of the immediate relief from the overwhelming stress, and she settles for being glad she can breathe. His eyes open wide as he watches her go, the physical memory of her pressed against him too warm and fleeting.

The rest of the team moves aside, letting Astrid get to the front, bracing herself against the starting line. She's oddly inspired by the pat on her back and whisper of 'good luck' from the girl behind her.

Time slows down as she waits, toes poised at the white lined start, her knee throbbing lightly in time with her heart. She wills it to be ok, exhaling in a measured way and clearing her lungs by breathing in the clear cool late October air. She feels the heat of her warm-up still pulsing, her hamstrings convulsing and coursing with adrenaline. A man in a race official's orange vest steps out on the side of the track, a gun pointed airwards. She focuses on the rise of the hill ahead of her, toes gripping the ground for dear life as his finger twitches.

Boom.

She flies forward, immediately spotting her adversaries racing to the lead, recognizing the fast brunette who almost caught her at regionals. The girl looks confident and she nearly roars, legs churning against the dirt track as she races to the front, toes aching as she lets herself drop back to her heels, gait normalizing.

The breathing sound behind her shoulder stalks her like a ghost and she doesn't kid herself thinking it'll let up, instead embracing the rhythm and lengthening her stride, knee pain being overcome by a surge of endorphins. She's shocked by the joint's solidity, the twinges of occasional pain bereft of any sort of weakness that she usually associates with the injury.

Sometimes wounds heal stronger than they started.

The race is blissfully flat, and the mile approaches more quickly than she could have imagined, the official clock reading an encouraging 5:45. She should be more terrified of burning out, but the heavy breathing behind her bears down like a battering ram.

She misses freshman year, before she developed her strategy of front-running and she would run the race in second or third place, dashing forward at the last half mile and stealing it out from under everyone. That strategy unfortunately stops working once everyone expects it from you, and she'd had to give it up sophomore year, when she was recognized as a threat. The thought that someone behind her could be employing that exact strategy pushes her stubbornly forward as she loops through a patch of the crowd, the Berk High boys' team cheering wildly. She doesn't see Hiccup, and figures he's at the two mile.

The thought pulls her forward, working as inspiration more than she'd like to admit, and she swings around a corner. Her feet slip on a patch of loose dirt as she flings herself down a shallow hill, the green two mile sign a toothpick on the horizon. Her lungs heave in her chest as she gains a brief reprieve from the heavy footfalls behind her.

"11:32," Hiccup calls out as Astrid passes, and she smiles with gritted teeth, legs flying forward of their own accord as she rounds the second to last corner. She lets herself relax, Hiccup looked happy, so there can't be anyone too close to overtaking her. Her steps evolve into a long-legged lope as she covers ground as effortlessly as she can, the eight-hundred meter warning looming like a metaphorical North Star.

Her kick bursts forth like its own entity, and her ears drown in her own desperate footsteps and heaving breaths. She sure can't hear anyone catching up now, and the terror pushes her pace into the range of frantic, arms pumping her forehead as her knee begins to throb in earnest, telltale creakiness leeching into her imagination.

She's rounding into the final sprint when the world dissolves into utmost clarity, pounding footsteps behind her a visceral reminder of the stakes as she flies forward, pulling more out of herself than she thought she had. The tape snapping across her chest ushers in the rampant cheering of the crowd and she falls to a jog, bending forward and dry-heaving mechanically as she staggers down the chutes.

Gobber pounces out of nowhere, holding her hand above her head in exaggerated triumph as her eyes come back into focus, smile beaming and nauseous as someone shoves a water bottle into her waiting hand.

00000

Astrid hates Halloween, but the only way she could win Scott's help tomorrow was to go to some stupid costume party tonight. It's not even the 31st, she shouldn't be subjected to this nonsense.

She stands in front of her closet, her house comfortingly silent as she tries to find something tolerable that remotely resembles a costume. Why would she dress up as something that she's not? Especially when she's more than happy about what she is…Cross country state champion.

Thinking the words still makes her giddy.

Scott's going as Wolverine, of all muscle bound things, and he's tremendously disappointed that she won't be a mutant too. She'd nearly broken his jaw when he'd suggestively tried to talk her into Mystique, and she'd never been happier that she'd excused herself from _touching_ him for the time being.

She finally gives up, settling for a denim skirt and white tank, throwing her leather jacket and a pair of those dreaded but necessary heels. Her knee balks at the odd positioning and she glares down at it, resenting the fact that she even has to deal with this. If she's entirely honest with herself all that she wants to do is stay home and eat…or go to Hiccup's house and eat.

But that kind of honesty is anything but acceptable and she forcefully straightens her knee. After the race, the trainer said she was fine, just inflamed, and considering she has Western Regionals in Utah in three weeks, she has no more time to be wounded.

She steels herself in front of her full length mirror, fully made up face unrecognizably perfect in the dimming light of her bedroom. This is all she has to do, one party, and the entire football team is going to show up at the event tomorrow. As popularity goes, their event won't get any more high profile than that.

There's half an hour before she's supposed to pick up her probably pre-partying boyfriend, and she sneaks upstairs, heels in hand. The silent habit is hard to break as she looks both ways in the hallway before flitting into the kitchen and setting her shoes on the counter while she gets herself a glass of milk from the fridge. She leans against the counter, sipping slowly and staring around the kitchen.

She remembers when it was shiny and clean, a place for pancakes and lazy weekend mornings with her mother. Looking back, black eyes haunt her memories and ghosts dance along the walls, making her feel uncomfortably small. She remembers her mom's smile and cringes at how much it resembles her own.

She got the asshole's jaw though, set forward and radiating stubborn like a plague.

The space becomes intolerable more quickly than she'd hoped and she chugs the rest of her drink, deciding that it's better to leave early than be here even one more minute. Her glass clinks into the dishwasher, and the whoosh of air from slamming its door sends a green flitter into the air.

She crouches down finding a hundred dollar bill on the floor, with a blue sticky note attached. The messy scrawl on the paper is dishearteningly sober, and she stares, her eyes tracing the words in an uncomprehending loop.

_Good job today, honey._

_Love,_

_Dad_

Her hand seizes around the bill as she whirls and vomits into the sink, spewing her drink and the celebratory feast of fast food down the drain until she's heaving at nothing. Her chest aches and spasms as lemon yellow bile leaks from her mouth, runny and insubstantial.

The only thing worse than pissing that man off is _pleasing_ him. She wishes that she'd tripped. She wishes that she'd tripped and broken her leg.

She almost rips the crisp bill to pieces, imagining the satisfaction of the frothy green scraps floating to the floor. She can see herself cooping them up into a pile on the counter for him to find. The trouble she would get in teases her like a dangerous thrill, and she smiles maliciously.

_Anything_ over this hellish praise.

But as much as she hates it, the rational side takes over as she stuffs the bill into her wallet, a knot bobbing nauseatingly in her throat. She slings her black purse over her shoulder, stuffing her feet back into her cursed shoes and walks back downstairs, thoroughly scrubbing her teeth and gargling mouthwash with a grimace at the sharp burn of alcohol against her raw throat.

She stares into the mirror for a moment, overanalyzing the familiar curve of her nose for any new bumps. It's more habit than anything, and she sighs, puffing her cheeks out and letting the air escape with a warbling pop. She doesn't want to do this, the dread is greater than her normal pre-party boredom and she can't put her finger on the reason for the escalation.

Astrid leaves her house through the garage, climbing into her car and driving to Scott's house, drumming her fingers continuously on the wheel as she pulls up out front, honking her horn twice. It's obvious that her boyfriend is already tipsy as he totters out to her car, hair gelled into Wolverine's dramatic swooped look. He's playing with plastic talons secured to fingerless gloves and she rolls her eyes.

She's sure that he probably looks really hot in that leather jacket, but his moronic expression is too off-putting for her to care.

"Hey babe," he slurs, placing a sloppy kiss on her cheek. He smells like beer and something stronger and she sneers, pulling out and driving towards the party. "Congrats," she accepts the sentiment with a grudging smile, the zing of victory still fresh.

"Thanks," she wants to tell him how excited she is to train for regionals, but she doesn't see a point and keeps quiet. It's not like he'd really listen anyway.

"You didn't dress up," Scott pouts, once he stops being distracted by his claws long enough to really look at her.

"Sure I did, I'm the blonde girl who always dies first in a horror movie," her sarcastic tone is lost on Scott, who laughs dumbly.

"That _is_ a costume," he mumbles just loudly enough for her to hear, and she slugs him, somehow surprised to hit firm muscle instead of scrawny bone. She doesn't remember the last time she really slugged him.

She hasn't missed kissing him.

"My shirt's even white to show the blood," she explains and he rolls his eyes.

"No offence babe, but my costume is way cooler," he assures her, staring at his claws with rapt fascination.

Hiccup would think her 'costume' is funny.

She tries to shove the decidedly confusing thought from her head, but it doesn't leave as quickly as she wishes it would, lingering in the fringes of her mind like thunderclouds that never make it past the mountains.

The dread doubles as Astrid parks on a crowded street, clicking around the car and helping a stumbling, slobbering Scott out of the car with grudging false affection. She can't help but feel like the rain heavy clouds are there for her, echoing every dreary and tumultuous emotion ripping through her brain. He slings a stifling arm around her shoulders as they walk into the house, instantly besieged by an excitedly incoherent Tuff and a bored looking Ruff.

Scott momentarily disappears, equally excited at some mysterious stimulus, and Astrid is left with Ruff, feeling short and cranky. The taller girl is wearing a horned helmet, with her long blonde hair in ridiculous asymmetrical braids.

"So, what are you supposed to be?" she drawls, and Astrid scowls at her.

"Nothing, but if Scott says anything, I'm a horror movie victim." Ruff laughs and straightens her itchy looking wool dress.

"You are blonde," She looks over the heads of the crowds, searching for Fishlegs' matching helmet, "Fish and I are Vikings."

"They didn't actually wear horned helmets, you know," Astrid corrects her friend, radiating her bad mood.

"Someone's cranky. What? Was cutting Scott off a bad idea?" She snarks and Astrid nearly snarls at her.

"Best idea I've ever had."

"What?" Ruff raises her eyebrows at her friend, and Astrid backpedals with a violent shrug. "Troubles in paradise—"

"Shut up."

They stand in awkward silence for a moment before Ruff sighs, not willing to let Astrid's horrible mood ruin her night. Just because the other girl can't spot a decent guy if she breaks his arm…

"Congratulations, by the way," Astrid can't help but smile at that, softening temporarily, and Ruff laughs.

"Thanks," she crosses her arms briefly, before realizing how vulnerable it makes her look. Her hands feel strange back down at her sides, the bare skin of her legs hairless and exposed to her fingers. "So you're still coming tomorrow, right?"

"Of course, I might even bring one home if it's terrifying enough," Ruff grins rakishly, and Astrid can't help but laugh.

"They'll lick you to death," She warns, and Ruff shrugs.

"If it'll guard my room from Tuff…" Astrid's laugh seems unnecessarily sharp against the stuffy air, and Ruff frowns at her.

"What's your problem tonight, anyway?"

"Just…worried about getting up so early tomorrow. I'm not looking forward to being there at eight on a Saturday, Hiccup is a drill sergeant." Ruff looks at her critically, eyebrow raised.

"Your real problem?"

"I don't have a problem," Astrid amends snippily, crossing her arms again before sighing irritably, running her hand through her hair and groaning when her bangs fall back in her eyes.

"You, my friend, need a beer." Ruff takes a chug of her own, raising an eyebrow at the other girl.

"You're probably right," She acknowledges, her head swimming in hunger, confusion, anger and misplaced guilt. What else is alcohol for? "I'm going to go hunt one down." She leaves the tall girl with a wave, stepping through the crowd that doesn't split quite like it used to, one eye out for Scott's ridiculous hair.

A few faceless drunk teenagers congratulate her on the way to the refreshment table, and the word sounds more and more false as they burrow into her brain. She's retained her _idol_ status, and it's never seemed so utterly insignificant. She feels like a mascot, hidden behind some ridiculous mask, unrecognizable without a stifling disguise.

Maybe she's in costume after all.

She starts to crave Scott's recognizable stature, his all-important attention, anything to make her feel whole. She gaping danger of unimportance threatens to swallow her whole, and she struggles to maintain her indignant frame of mind.

The beer is cheap and bitter, and she sips slowly, eyes sharp for a leather shoulder or plastic claw swipe. She spies Ruff and Fish, grinning at each other in a corner, looking utterly _involved_ in a way that makes her heart sink. Ruff's hand lands on her boyfriend's beefy chest and he looks at her like she's noble.

Noble.

Astrid doubles her search for Scott, head swimming in something bitter other than the amber liquid in her cup. She spots the hideous claws, swiping high in a corner, and heads through the crowd, losing her beer somewhere along the way.

Sauntering up to Scott's elbow and grabbing it with a heated glance feels like an act. It's like she's watching herself drag him down a hallway, looking for an empty bedroom. Someone else yanks the door open and shoves his brawny shoulders backwards, clambering over him on the bed and kissing him hard. Her lips hurt from the force, her teeth digging into the tender flesh until she tastes blood.

He looks up at her like she matters, and nausea rises above the familiar rush of ego as he climbs on top of her, grinning. She's never noticed how unbearably predictable his face is, the utterly plain visage of a typical Midwestern jock.

She doesn't feel anything as his hand slides under her shirt. He's saying something, she can see his lips moving slowly, tongue sluggish and clumsy between too perfect teeth, and she focuses on the words, hoping for anything to make her want to stay.

"…missed you. Don't ever call this off for another week, it threw off my game…" Astrid clings to the words, striving for that ever important feeling of being needed.

The meager emotional tide falls flat and the room whirls into utter clarity.

This isn't her. This desperate, needy, _threatened_ girl is the one who broke Hiccup's arm. This is the girl who almost lost regionals out of petty jealousy, not the enviable Astrid who pushed through and won out of pure tenacity and self-reliance.

She doesn't want to be this girl anymore.

She wants to be herself, and she doesn't _need_ anyone to do it. But it's definitely easier when Hiccup is around.

Astrid knows that she shouldn't be thinking about Hiccup when she's blanketed under _Scott_ in some back room at the stupid party that she can't stand. She's physically here, body itchy and irritated under unwelcome hands. But her mind is miles away, drifting in an out of drafty sheds.

A muffled boom of thunder shakes her thoughts, and she can almost smell rain and pine sap as she starts to regret what she didn't finish.

She's not fighting to stay in the moment, and suddenly it's abundantly clear that she doesn't want to be here.

She wants to be at that cozy house in Evergreen, curled up next with Toothless and talking to someone who actually listens to the words that she has to say. Obvious realizations flood through her brain in a torrent.

She and Scott just aren't working.

It's all sex. Relationships have to be more than just sex.

It's not even really sex anymore. It's…an obligation, it's time she doesn't want to spend. She doesn't want this relationship anymore.

And the most important fact of all slaps her across the face. Scott isn't Hiccup. He's never going to be Hiccup. He's never going to look at her the way Hiccup does, like she's something more than he can see.

Just because she met Scott first, doesn't mean that she can't choose.

But it's not even a choice. It's a given so obvious that she laughs out loud, mashing Scott's face away from her own with a rough hand.

"Get off." She laughs again, shoving on his shoulders, and trying to sit up. He looks at her, stunned and confused, and she can't believe she was just kissing that vacant expression. She looks inside him for the first time in years and sees a blank canvas that she has no interest in decorating.

"What?"

"Off, now." He's heavy and she gives up shoving him off, tugging her skirt back down and trying to wiggle off the edge of the bed. "Seriously, get off." She snaps, hot and irritated in the close room. She has to get going.

"Babe, but you said after your meet—"

"We're over." She declares, pushing his head away from her neck and shimmying out from under him, cool clarity clearing the blush from her face. Scott looks up at her, unwrapped rubber in hand, with that annoying and confused look on his face.

"What?"

"We're broken up." She straightens her skirt and grabs her keys from where they've landed on the bedside table. She didn't drink anything, right? One sip of beer isn't going to slow her escape. She's sober, but tipsy, her brain reeling as she jumps off a cliff into the unknown.

Complete mystery is better than normal. She wants weird, and chaotic, and unpredictable. She doesn't want mass approval, she wants the rampant raw emotions throbbing through her chest like fire.

"Again, what?" He grabs her hand, trying to be romantic or something. "We're solid, baby."

"I'm dumping you. No, I already did dump you a second ago." She snatches her hand back, not able to get out of the room fast enough. Why is she here when she could be _there_?

"Babe—"

"I'm not your babe!" He's suddenly just another drooling guy who she's shoving away.

"Astrid, just stay, hang out." The 'sleep with me' is implied, and her lip curls. She doesn't know how this is supposed to feel anymore, but she can guess that revulsion isn't a part of ideal romance.

"No, and bye." Then as she turns to leave, there's one of those moments of tenderness that have helped her deal with him for so long. He looks so heartbroken, and for a second he almost seems like a real person, rather than a walking cliché. She's grateful for every time he kept her out of her house, every sweet mindless gesture that made her feel important, if even for a second. "See you around." It's not even a lie.

But all thoughts about Scott's puppy dog eyes disappear when she's outside running through a downpour to the car and driving to Hiccup's house. Her legs ache, tired muscles complaining as she floors the accelerator, swerving out of the crowded driveway. The road gleams in her headlights like a beacon and she tails it, driving towards the towering thunderheads. She's irrationally out of breath, chasing the thunderstorm across town and hoping for an unlikely pot of gold.

The constant swollen pressure in her knee is replaced by a wobbly fuzzy feeling as she remembers Hiccup's careful hands patching her up a week ago. Has she felt this way for a week? A month? Has she ever been happy?

Has traffic always been this slow? Why can't this wait until tomorrow? Why is she doing this? She hopes that he doesn't care, but somehow knows that he's too_ good_ to turn her away. That's one thing that is completely reliable in this crazy world. Hiccup will do the right thing, the moral thing, and the good thing.

She parks in front of his house, and runs up to the front porch, heels wobbling in the gravel like stilts. It's pouring rain here, and she's soaked and shivering by the time she's sheltered by his front porch. Her fist knocks sharply on the door and she waits impatiently until Hiccup opens, disheveled and sleep-ridden. He rubs at his eyes, squinting slightly in her direction before standing up straighter, an alert flush crawling across his cheeks.

"Astrid? What are you doing—" He narrows his eyes and she wonders if he thinks he's dreaming.

"I broke up with Scott," she blurts, and somehow it makes her feel ridiculously exposed. What does she even _want_ him to say to that?

"Am I supposed to be happy?" He doesn't want to say the wrong thing and bring an angry Astrid down on himself. He's too tired to be standing right now, let alone arguing. What's she even doing up, they have to be awake so early…

Astrid is confused by the question, and then suddenly she almost leans forward and kisses him—

What? Where the hell did _that_ come from?

"I'm happy." Now she's just thinking about his lips, and can't even determine why she hasn't kissed him yet. She's never noticed how full his bottom lip is, almost cherubic on his narrow face. She should just do it, it's not actually a big deal. It's nothing, but somehow kissing _Hiccup_ seems like some drastic revelation. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." She almost does it right then. She almost just leans over and _kisses_ him. "Am I allowed to ask why you dumped your boyfriend?"

"Honestly? I realized that I'd rather be here with you—" Why is she even saying this?

She's never felt so insane in her entire life.

"Umm, what?" This is a dream, he's going to wake up and it's going to be summer and none of _this_ will have even happened. He's going to have a perfect wrist and an empty life.

He remembers the feeling of her arms wrapped around his shoulders earlier, and tries to keep himself in the moment, his brain sluggish and drowning. She's as tall as he is in her high heels, and it adds to the surreal nature of the midnight encounter, and he blinks hard.

"You're better than—" He's chewing on his lower lip, looking worried and staring at her and he's right there and she snaps. It's not a big deal and anything is better than just standing here wondering. She has to just make it happen like everything else in her life, it won't just come easily. "I'm trying something." And she leans forward, grabbing his shoulders and pressing her mouth onto his.

Hiccup freezes, pleasurably shocked. He'd thought that she was going to head butt him or anything other than _this_. His teeth release his lower lip and Astrid gasps against his mouth, her face cold and damp against his. It's all so real and warm and perfect, and he wants to make it last, but it'd be so easy to mess up, so he just stands there and basks in the reality that seems impossible. He can feel her shaking, her fingers clamped on his shoulders so tightly that they hurt, while his arms hang limp at his sides.

An eternity passes in those few glorious seconds.

Then it's over, and Astrid is standing, uncharacteristically wide-eyed and terrified, at arm's length.

"I should go." She lets go of his shoulders and staggers backwards, stumbling a little on the heels she's still wearing. And then she's turning away and leaving and he's not saying anything to stop her. He didn't _do _anything. He didn't kiss her back. She turns, blue eyes clinging to his shocked face in the doorway as long as possible as she nearly staggers through the downpour to her car.

She's never felt so much from a kiss in her entire life, and he didn't kiss her back. Her ribs feel like a cage as she struggles to breathe, her entire body encased in pins and needles.

Why didn't he kiss her back? Where would she be if he had?

Fishlegs was wrong, or she made the worst mistake of her life and scared him off with her rash antics. She hears him shut his front door as she splashes across the wet gravel, heart pounding as impossibly hot tears scratch at her eyes.

Astrid Hofferson just kissed him. It surely must be a dream, but he's never been this elated and confused in his sleep. He sits down on the couch, running his hand back through his hair and tugging on it not at all gently. It hurts and he's awake, and he can still feel her sticky lip gloss smeared on his mouth.

It would all make sense, if he weren't him and she weren't her. A girl dumps her boyfriend and shows up at some other guy's house in the middle of the night and kisses him. That would mean that she had _feelings_ for the guy.

But it's Astrid, and she's perfect and he's Hiccup and he laughs at his math teacher's jokes. She won the state cross country race today, and he built a catapult alone, because even his fellow nerd had a date. She kissed him, and he overanalyzed it enough to scare her off.

He sighs, running a curious tongue over his lower lip and tasting the saccharine cherry liquid stuck there. It must have been real.

And then she left.

00000

**So…tell me what you guys think, I've got to say I'm proud of this. The next chapter is going to pick up the next morning…and entail the all-important adoption event…**

**With Hiccup, and Astrid, and Scott all in attendance…**

**Please tell me what you guys thought of this chapter, the last part of this was the second thing I wrote for this entire story, and I have been reaching towards this for the last two dozen chapters, so I have a lot invested. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Another post at the speed of lightning. I'm sorry Hey Man, if the speed is disconcerting. Honestly a while ago in a bout of writers block I wrote most of this part, so I'm mostly editing and embellishing, which is a comparative blaze…**

00000

"Hiccup!" Astrid pounds on his door, the bag of McDonalds egg McMuffins heavy and hot in her hand. She's already been up for an hour, because going for a run was better than staring at her bedroom ceiling any longer, playing the night over and over in her head like a broken record.

She hopes Scott still shows up today, she hopes that she didn't ruin the chances of this actually working by chasing some alternate reality that was _apparently_ farther out than she'd thought.

The memory of the ill-fated kiss floats through her mind, drawing her thoughts with a sickening lurch of her stomach.

Flipping from optimistic to lonely and rejected that quickly gave her whiplash. She's never been rejected before, and she can't quite wrap her head around the chest deep unfamiliar ache. Honestly, the feeling echoes her all too immediate fear of inadequacy, the parental centered feeling that she hoped never to associate with Hiccup. It's a testament to her stubbornness for her to be here at all, and she keeps Spike's smiling face in her mind as an emotional tether. The closed door teases her as she knocks again, unbearable familiarity making her lips curl.

And tingle masochistically.

He didn't kiss her back.

She lets the thought sink in for what must be the thousandth time, repeating it to herself in time with her pounding knee, the taped joint still warm and irritable from her run.

"Coming!" She hears a groggy yell from inside and her heart clenches, breeze unnaturally cool as the color drains from her face. She doesn't regret last night, but she isn't exactly thrilled to learn about her dirty little secret. It was so much easier when she didn't know that she wanted more than friendship from Hiccup.

Wanting it is even worse than needing it somehow, she feels completely independent but decidedly less than happy. Her emotions rest heavily in her chest, devoid of their familiar distanced glazing.

He flings open the door a minute later, bedhead out of control as he threads his belt through his jeans, fumbling the clasp with tired fingers.

"I woke you up?" Astrid asks, her voice staying steady despite her heart's crazy palpitations.

"No, Astrid. We said seven, I was completely awake at six thirty." He insists, averting his eyes as he lies to her.

"It's seven fifteen, I'm late." Astrid deadpans, "Sleep well?"

"Fine." Hiccup mumbles, flushing as he nearly drops with his keys, shoving past her to his car.

Wow, warm welcome.

Astrid walks after him, tucking her free hand into her deep hoodie pocket. She climbs into the front passenger seat and buckles up with a grudging pout. Well, she thinks it's a pout, it's definitely an expression she hasn't made in living memory, and she bites her lower lip, chewing on it miserably.

"I got breakfast." She gestures towards the bag on her lap, doing her best not to sound like she's upset, when her emotions are whirling like a hurricane. She's torn between acting like everything is fine and beating him senseless. Both plans seem abhorrent so she settles for something spiteful in the middle.

"Why—" Hiccup asks, louder than he's been all morning as he pulls out onto his winding driveway.

"Why did I get breakfast?" Her voice almost cracks as she grabs a sandwich out of the bag and unwraps it. "Because it's early, and I was hungry, and I thought it might help you get your ass out of bed." She takes a savage bite and chews, her heart throbbing in her throat. Hiccup sighs, entirely out of his element. He's not sure what girls do the morning after they surprise kiss you, but this is not at all what he expected.

He must still be dreaming, Astrid is bringing him breakfast in an effort to be nice.

Although the heavy scowl on Astrid's face is making this seem more and more real. She's probably just upset after her breakup, she and Scott were going out for years, and she must be an absolute mess today. He's torn between caring about her obvious distress and wishing he'd responded more enthusiastically the night before.

"I didn't mean it like…that, I just…ugh, you did show up last night, right?" He asks, the question settling in the air like dust. She stares at him with a blank face, eyes drifting between misty and horrified.

"Yes, Hiccup. I showed up in the middle of the night, at your house, and announced I'd just broken up with my boyfriend." She responds, the truth so glaringly obvious in her eyes that the sting of rejection refreshes, chafing against her throat.

"And you…you kissed me?" He clarifies, running his hand through his hair, the tendons standing out on his neck. He accelerates more raggedly than normal, his foot heavy on the pedal as he fights the slowness of his sleep clogged brain.

"Yes, Hiccup, I kissed you." Astrid's bravado tapers down to a mutter. "Is that a problem?"

"A problem? You're asking me if that's a problem?" He laughs, "No, Astrid, it's not a problem." His voice rises into the realm of hysterical as he struggles to keep his eyes on the road. Astrid hands Hiccup a sandwich as a pseudo-reward for the alarming honesty in his voice, her fingers buzzing when they brush across his. The warm feeling doesn't dissipate when she rubs her hand on her thigh, and she gives up, letting the appendage flop loosely to her lap.

Treacherous hand.

"Well you're acting like you have issues," she fidgets, crossing her arms then immediately unfolding to scarf a couple of huge less than ladylike bites.

"I don't have—" She snorts, and he sighs, trying again, "I was asleep, and I've never imagined in a million years—" His straining voice hits her ears with horrifying immediacy and she clams up, slamming another sandwich down onto his lap with a blushing snarl.

"Eat your breakfast," She mulls over every good thing he could have said and she can't tell which is worse, the bubble of fear in her chest or the hope trying to drown her newfound independence.

She's a mess. At least she can admit it, if only to herself. She wishes she were a mess about breaking up with Scott, or even a mess from stressing about adopting so many dogs in a day, but it's worse than that.

At least until now, she's always known exactly what she was doing. At least mean Astrid was completely and utterly sure of herself in every crooked direction.

She wonders what would happen if she kissed him again.

"Thank you…for breakfast," Hiccup finally mutters, glancing at her sideways as he carefully deals with his food, one hand planted firmly on the wheel. As much as she deplores her own predictability, she focuses on his lips, trying to reason through their illogical draw before she looks away, staring outside.

The entire world opens to her in a flurry of understanding, and all she can think about is Hiccup? She wills herself to miss Scott, and comes up frustratingly empty, sighing and looking out the window. At least the drive is pretty.

"You're welcome," she snips, too polite words fake on her tongue. Hiccup grinds his teeth loudly enough for her to hear and she looks over, both intrigued and irritated by the stubborn set of that surprisingly sharp jaw. "What?"

"Nothing…" He relents with a sigh, unable to hurdle his own nerves. He wants to shout, he wants to pull over and wipe that uncomfortably unfamiliar mask of doubt off of her face. He has absolutely no idea what he's doing. His own inexperience drugs his mind with doubt as he pulls into the animal shelter's empty parking lot, coasting up to the side of the building and turning off the car's engine with a too angry flick of his wrist.

"I don't know if Scott's still coming today," Astrid admits sheepishly, willing Hiccup to _do_ something to tell her that he's happy she's not with the football player anymore.

"I figured," Hiccup laughs miserably, the luck of the entire situation uncannily horrible.

"Ruff is though, and that means Fishlegs…and probably Tuff," she offers with a shrug, anger fading into something horribly reminiscent of angst.

"And that's already better than I would have done without your help," he grants her credit that she doesn't want and she looks down, bangs falling over her eyes.

"I could've picked a better time to dump Scott," Astrid concedes, and Hiccup takes it as the muted apology that it is, shrugging as he turns to open the car door.

"What, like a month ago?" He jokes and Astrid searches his face, that annoying bubble of hope swelling in her stomach and threatening to smother her. His small smile melts away as she stares at his face a moment too long, critical expression the stuff of pubescent nightmares. "Let's go get this set up." Astrid glares at his back as he climbs out of the car.

So now he's going to _flirt_? Or whatever that was?

She follows him around to the front of the shelter, doing her best not to look at his concentrated expression as he unlocks the door and failing miserably, shaking her head clear as they enter to a cacophony of barking. He turns to her, avoiding eye contact as he points to a large bin of kibble against the wall.

"Only feed half a scoop, they're going to be getting treats all day," he shouts above the din, gesturing her towards the right side of the hallway. She nods in understanding, happy to do anything besides overanalyze everything he says.

All of the dogs know what's up, lining up at their respective spots along kennel fences and wagging furiously as she approaches with stacks of half full dented metal bowls. She slides each one under the fence, stopping momentarily to scratch ears and chins as the grateful canines flap their tongues at her, hoping for kisses. It takes three trips to get her half of the dogs fed, systematically ducking her head when she intersects with Hiccup in the hallway, glad for the noise that keeps them from talking.

Honestly, looking at that disgusting cast was easier than making eye contact this morning.

Astrid can't help but notice that Hiccup gave her the half of the shelter away from Spike and she frowns at the door, resorting to making up reasons to be mad at him. Her ridiculous anger fades as she wanders the other half of the muggy building, letting curious tongues lick dog food residue off of her fingers until she comes to her gray girl's kennel, opening the gate and kneeling down, letting the powerfully built dog lick her face.

"Good morning," she mumbles, scratching the ruff of her neck and stroking her soft ears as Spike wags, tail striking the chain link like cymbals. "You excited to get adopted today, beautiful?" The thought is enough to pull her mind from its adolescent turmoil as she frowns, resting her forehead on the dog's smooth side.

Last night's independent clarity rushes back to her and she smiles slightly, sitting up straight.

Just as clearly as Scott isn't her boyfriend, Spike _is_ her dog.

"By me," she whispers, the words a quiet promise in the dense air as she lets the dog lick at the tip of her nose. "I'll adopt you."

The plan is hazy at best, but it would make her feet better if she used that hundred dollar bill for something utterly against the rules. What's better for dealing with the next three months, making sure that last Friday never happens again, than a proverbial sister in arms? She smiles, thinking of sleeping safely with her bodyguard curled by her feet.

She'll need…well, she doesn't exactly know. What all do dogs need? Obviously food and leashes and…stuff. She sighs irritably, knowing exactly who to ask.

"Of course, pretty girl, of course I'm going to need Hiccup's help with this." Spike doesn't like her girl's sad voice and she wags harder, licking at the air until she kisses up against her salty nose. "Ptht," Astrid pulls back from the near French kiss, sitting on her butt and pulling the dog half onto her lap, "I guess you wouldn't understand, Hun, you give everyone kisses. But…well, I kissed Hiccup last night, and he really didn't seem too happy about it," she explains, simplifying the concept so that Spike can understand.

The dog's blue eyes look at her curiously as she cocks her blocky head, leaning hard against Astrid as the girl scratches her rump above her tail.

"I know, right?" She spends another moment scratching along her muscular sides, laughing when she makes the dog's back foot spasm with glee. "Ok, ok…" she murmurs against the lapping pink tongue, pushing to her feet despite Spike's insistence that she stay all day. "I'll be back for you." She knows that keeping the dog out of the adoption circuit will involve talking to Hiccup, and she avoids it for the time being, vowing to guard this dead end hallway like a hawk.

The sun is already bright outside, drying the muddy ground into a hard packet sheet and Astrid picks her way around stagnant puddles around to the grassy lawn to the west of the shelter, where Hiccup is setting up temporary pens with rolls of plastic webbing and the bumpers of a few cars already scattered around the lot. She immediately recognizes Fishlegs hulking form dragging the roll along while Hiccup secures the corners.

"So, are you going to show me the beasts?" The drawling greeting is no surprise and Astrid turns around to see a groggy Ruff, hair still ridiculous as she clutches a cup of coffee between pale fingers.

"Do they need any help out here?" Astrid asks, watching Hiccup struggle to drag another roll of plastic fencing before Fishlegs hefts the thing onto his shoulder.

"Nah, Scott and my idiot brother are on their way, they peeled off for breakfast, but Tuff just texted me," she idly checks her phone and Astrid almost smiles with the relief.

"They're _both_ coming?" the shorter girl asks cautiously, and Ruff shoots her an exhausted glare.

"That's what I said," she gripes, stuffing her phone into her sweatpants pocket and following Astrid as she heads towards the building.

"And did they say anything about the football team?" Ruff rolls her eyes.

"Jesus, you're disconnected for 12 hours, and you're already this clueless?"

"Disconnected?" Astrid asks, voice wary as she stops, glancing subconsciously over her shoulder at the boys before turning to Ruff with a hip cocked in defiance.

"Seriously? Everyone knows you broke up with Scott," Ruff shrugs, personally not phased.

"Of course they do," Astrid mumbles, slumping forward in an out of character way that makes the taller girl raise her eyebrows.

"Ugh, are you going to tell me that you want him back or something?" She fears the worst, taking a protective step back.

"No," Astrid scowls, crossing her arms and looking both directions to make sure no one can see them. She leans close to the other girl, voice a low whisper, "but I think I need…girly advice," she admits, her face disgusted as she struggles to make sense of her emotional turmoil.

"Eugh, why are you talking to me, then?"

"Because, who else am I going to talk to?" Ruff snickers.

"Why don't you ask Hiccup? He's like your surrogate girl-friend," she mocks and Astrid can't help the irritating blush that rises to her cheeks.

"It's kind of about Hiccup," she admits, her voice dropping to a low murmur. Ruff's face immediately brightens as her head snaps to stare at Astrid with penetrating eyes.

"Ha! There is something going on!" Ruff's eyes light up like she just witnessed a gruesome accident, and Astrid silences her with a nearly demonic glare.

"Shut up, or I won't tell you," she grits through her teeth, ducking around the corner of the building in exaggerated secrecy.

"Ok, ok…sheesh," Ruff mumbles and Astrid cautiously looks around before speaking.

"Last night…after I left the party—Urgh, I went to Hiccup's house, and I kissed him." She spits, and Ruff raises her eyebrows. "It's not like I meant to," Astrid amends at her friend's shocked expression.

"What, you fell on his mouth?"

"No," Astrid feels her blush darken and she forces her voice steady, "I didn't go there intending to…to kiss him."

"Then why did you?" This isn't exactly shocking news to the softball player, who isn't an idiot and noticed her friend's peculiar behavior over the past few weeks.

"I just felt like trying it, ok? Is that a crime?" She swallows her doubt and goes on the offensive, her tsunami running up against Ruff's emotional brick wall.

"Do you regret breaking up with Scott or something?"

"No, I don't—" Again, not exactly shocking, everyone but Scott knew that Astrid wasn't really into him.

"Then what's the problem? Just either kiss him again, or tell him that you're not going to," Ruff rolls her eyes.

"He didn't kiss me back," Astrid admits, ferocity fading to genuine misery. Ruff thinks about Hiccup's calculus book, and his monumentally scrawny shoulders and laughs in her friend's face. The shorter girl glares at her incredulously, crossing her arms and preparing to storm off. "Well, if that's how you're going to be, I'll—"

"Come back here," Ruff grabs her arm and sighs, grinning. "You might have actually come to the right girl, Hofferson." She mulls over how to put this, before sighing. "Do you think Hiccup has much experience with girls?"

"I don't know," she answers, shrugging almost violently, "probably not, I guess."

"When I first started dating Fishlegs, I pretty much had to make out with a statue for 30 seconds before he got the idea that I was doing it on purpose," she admits, and Astrid furrows her eyebrows. "You don't see the point?"

"I mean, I get that he's not too…_experienced_, but I was pretty clear," she insists, "How many ways can you interpret somebody announcing that they broke up with their boyfriend and then kissing you?"

"If Hiccup is half as smart as Fishlegs, then at least a couple hundred," Ruff admits, and Astrid narrows her eyes, deciding whether or not to trust her friend. "Look at it this way, you show up in the middle of the night, wake him up and assault him? Does that sound like mentally stable behavior to you?" Astrid frowns, because that does make some sort of sense.

"I didn't assault him."

"I'm just saying, Hiccup is a _nice_ guy, and they tend to try not to take advantage of girls when they're emotionally distressed." Ruff has a point, and she can't help but think about how much happier the girl has been since she gave up jerks in favor of nerds.

But maybe nerds are just _nice_. Maybe Ruff took her life into her own hands and started hanging around _nice_, decent people, instead of whoever she was lumped with.

Astrid cocks her head, seeing her friend in a new light as admiration courses through her veins, unaccompanied by its usual jealous partner.

"So…I'm accusing him of being an asshole…for not being an asshole," Astrid clarifies with a dry miserable laugh, and Ruff nods, letting go of her friends arm.

"Yeah, pretty much," the two girls laugh, feeling more like actual friends than either of them can remember. When Astrid isn't being so crazy competitive she's actually pretty cool, Ruff thinks to herself, edging her way towards the gaping door into the shelter. "Now come on, I want first dibs, Tuff says he's going to get a bigger dog than me, and I can't let that happen."

"We'll find you a giant," Astrid offers, strolling through the door, and laughing as Ruff flinches slightly at the initial roar of excited barks. Astrid prides herself on how quickly she quiets the dogs down, her voice low and slow as she tells them to be quiet.

Ruff can't help but be shocked that her usually high-strung friend can even sound that _calm_.

00000

Hiccup never thought he would be happy to see Scott Nout, but a wave of relief flushes through him when the quarterback pulls up in a his SUV, three or four family cars following him. He jumps out, looking around until he spots Hiccup and Fishlegs, and sauntering over. A few Junior Varsity players and their parents climb into the daylight, a blend of nervous excitement on their still groggy faces.

Most of their parents recognize Hiccup and thankfully start to look more comfortable.

"I promised anyone who took home a dog a 20 minute session of free personal training from yours truly," Scott boasts to Hiccup, smiling confidently as he looks around. The smaller boy can't help but smile, because at least one person here is a true salesman, even if bribing is involved. "Have you seen Astrid?"

"Umm…I think she's inside?" Hiccup doesn't intend the statement to come out as a question.

"Ok…well, if you see her, you'll tell her that I'm helping, right?" Scott asks, voice surprisingly hollow without it's normal bravado, and Hiccup nods, hoping his wide-eyed expression is at least marginally convincing. "Later dude," he wanders off towards Tuff, and Hiccup can't help but think about the night before.

Fishlegs shoots his friend a curious look and Hiccup shakes his head, sighing and waving the larger boy along with him.

"Come on, let's go get some dogs out."

Hiccup can't help but be impressed as the day moves forward, half the football team and at least three quarters of the cross country team make an appearance, nervous parents soothed by old pits napping in the sun like overgrown hound dogs. More dogs are coming out of the shelter than are going back in, and the lawn soon becomes hectic, overrun with people and dogs, both parties searching nearly frantically among the other for a connection.

He can't help but glance over towards the doorway every now and then, seeing the occasional flash of blonde as yet another dog comes out collared and delivered with a handful of treats to its prospective owner. He immensely appreciates the help at the same time

Astrid can't move fast enough, dashing around and trying her best to fulfill pet requests ranging from the doable to the bizarre. She's searching through kennels looking for a 'pretty boy dog' for a spoiled looking younger girl when a voice that she doesn't want to deal with echoes down the hallway.

"Hey Astrid," Scott announces, managing to saunter towards her even under his deceptively uncertain expression.

"Hello Scott," she keeps her voice chilled and avoids eye contact, continuing her search through the thankfully half empty kennels. He's silent for a minute, stopping to lean against a wall before grudgingly following her as she doesn't stop moving.

"I brought a lot of people," he announces hopefully, and she closes her eyes and exhales, tempering the irrational anger rising in her chest. "I'm helping."

"Then help me find a 'pretty boy dog'," Astrid orders, gesturing him down another hallway, but he's more stubborn than that and he stays after her.

"Will you at least talk to me?"

"What's there to talk about?" She asks him, finally stopping as she finds herself cornered at the end of a hall, and doesn't particularly feel like _shoving _past him.

"I—" She's never seen him lacking confidence this fiercely and it makes her heart sink unexpectedly. This is just so wrong, everything about this situation feels too raw to be real with people too fake to feel this way. "What did I do wrong?" He asks, an earnest little boy peeking through his studly face.

"Nothing." She admits.

It's not necessarily _wrong_ that he didn't listen to her, or that he wanted to drag her to parties every weekend, or that he likes to drink more than she does. It's just…Scott.

And Scott and Astrid don't mesh like they used to, if they ever did at all.

"Then why'd you break up with me?" He asks, and she sighs. The only time in the last 3 years that he left an opening for her to talk, and she means really talk, not flirt or joke or praise…just talk, and it's about the end of them.

"Because, I didn't want to be your girlfriend anymore, and that's not fair to either of us," she snaps, her voice harsher than she wants it to be in the quest of keeping him at a respectful arms-length.

"But why?" Again, the spaces for her to fill with words he might actually take a moment to absorb.

"Because I stopped trying to tell you things," she admits simply, and the words flow out of her mouth in a torrent. "Because everything always, and I mean _always_, got turned back on you, it was always about you, really. And I hate doing your math homework, I don't know why I put up with that for so long. It's only algebra, not rocket science," she snaps, exhaling a few calming breaths before finishing on a less excited note, "and whenever I needed a ride, or… I asked everyone else for help first, I never came to you."

"I would've helped you," he defends himself.

"I know, but I didn't want your help."

"Why not?" He asks and she resists the urge to yell at him. Even this brief bout of honest conversation is making her crave the way that Hiccup understands what she says before she even finishes talking.

"That's not the point. It just never occurred to me to ask you."

"But you could've asked me."

"Scott," she looks at him, taking in every handsome feature and how little she cares about how pretty he is. "I don't want to date you if I'm happier when you're not around. I should want to see you, not be excited to get it over with."

"This is about Hiccup, isn't it?" He asks, glowering like a child refused dessert. "You liked being my girlfriend before you started hanging out with that guy—"

"No! It's about me!" She can't help but raise her voice and the dog in the kennel next to her yelps nervously. She coos at it apologetically before turning back to her sheepish _ex_-boyfriend. "I broke up with you because of me."

"Well…" he starts, voice determined as he puffs his chest out in an embarrassingly showy way, and Astrid resists the urge to rolls her eyes. She's sick of the fanfare, and the acting, and the false feelings making everything seem ok. "I guess you're not really giving me a choice here," he deflates halfway, and she can almost feel the gallant waves of half-baked plans rolling off of his brain. "But I don't think it'll be too long before you miss me," he challenges and she sighs.

"I won't have a chance to miss you, I see you five days a week." She almost daintily slips by him, walking back towards the real world. "I wasn't kidding when I said see you around."

00000

"I'm just worried, I was thinking about more of a retriever when my daughter asked for a dog," An anxious woman of about forty agonizes over her fourteen year old daughter cuddling with a bright eyed Rottweiler. "You just see on the news…"

Hiccup resists the urge to roll his eyes as he leaps into the conversation.

"Actually, pit-bulls and Rotweillers outscore many 'family' breeds on most professional dog trainer's personality assessments." He pulls a handful of literature out of his back pocket, shamelessly touting the dogs' positive qualities.

It's a sale as soon as the mother gets a look in those deep, trusting, brown eyes.

"19 to go," Hiccup muses to himself as he files the latest adoption form in the office, the laughter outside warming the dank shelter.

"How are we doing?" He hears Astrid's voice behind him and his back straightens, neck prickling hotly. Last he checked, she'd adopted out 7 dogs, second only to him. He turns around, trying in spite of himself to be smooth, but stumbling over his own feet as he turns to face her.

She smiles timidly and he stares at his feet.

"Less than 20 left," he offers, a smile creeping onto his face. No matter what an issue he made of his personal life, it's still happy that the event is going well. He's still glad that so many of the dogs are finally finding homes.

"That's great!" Astrid admits, her face brightening as she steps forward, hoping he won't run away like a skittish rabbit. "I wanted to ask your help with something." She continues acutely aware of the fact that the two of them are alone. She looks as_ solid_ as normal to Hiccup, but her eyes are different, deeper and more transparent than normal.

"Anything." He jumps, stuffing his hands into his pockets and following her down the long concrete hallway.

"I want Spike." Astrid admits, walking to the chain link kennel where her blue eyed girl is pacing nervously, wanting to be a part of the fun outside. "We can…back each other up." She explains, crossing her arms in the face of doubled vulnerability. Trusting Hiccup with this stuff is anything but easy and she shrugs, hugging herself as she continues with a measured voice. "And I can't stand to see her with anyone else, she's my girl."

"I'm not gonna lie, I'd feel better about everything if she was with you." Hiccup admits, brushing the overly protective line he had only dared approach a few times before. He leans on the side of the kennel feeling oddly sentimental towards the dog.

"Me too." Astrid leans up beside him, resting her forehead against the chain link. "But I've never had a dog before, and I'm sure I need a bunch of…stuff." That hundred dollar bill burns in the back of her mind, a ticket to something more manageable. She can't help but see something of herself in Spike's eyes, and she smiles at the dog, camaraderie letting her hope for safety. "After we wrap up today, can we go to a pet store and get…everything?"

"Sure!" He nearly shouts, jumping at the chance to fix…something. He's seen the pictures of what Spike did to her last owner, and it wouldn't bother him in the slightest if the same happened to Astrid's father.

"Thanks," she shrugs, the chain link digging into her wrists as Spike looks at her with an anxious grin. "Are you happy I broke up with Scott?" The question comes out of the blue and she bites her lip, wondering what she wants him to say, and hoping that asking doesn't make her desperate.

"Yeah, for one he was way too stupid for you," Hiccup admits, focusing on Astrid as he carefully avoids saying anything too self-incriminating, "and honestly, he kind of made you look like a midget when you were with him."

"Did not." Astrid knows it's probably true, and the thought sours her serious expression as she wrinkles her nose. "I'm ok, by the way. Still happy about it." She sighs, "Well I mean, I'm tired, but…I'm just not torn up about it."

"Oh, well that's good."

"And I understand, finally, about…umm…last night" she sighs, opting for the truth, "well, actually Ruff explained it. She said that you're a nice guy, so that means you didn't want to mess me up by going for it when I was distressed. And apparently assaulting you in the middle of the night counts distressed behavior," she laughs, and the words feel obvious coming out of her mouth, making her feel royally idiotic for her rash behavior. "And she also mentioned that you probably don't have too much _experience_, and don't know what you're doing," she tries not to say it as an insult, because it really isn't. It's a fact just like Scott's self-obsession. "If that's true, I don't hold it against you," she assures him, hoping beyond hope that she didn't shoot herself in the foot. For good measure, she adds, "and I really am fine, Hiccup."

He gulps, staring at his feet and glancing over at hers, petite and grounded.

"Wow, I didn't know Ruff was so deep." Hiccup comments lamely, hoping that Astrid believed her friend.

"Is she right?" Astrid's arms are wrapped around her narrow waist, holding her midsection together with pale hands, as the idiotic fear of rejection mounts in her gut. In a moment of absolute bravery, Hiccup turns toward her and wraps his arms around her shoulders, inhaling into the warmth. She's bony and distractingly firm, her ribs jabbing against his below the warm soft puddles he pretends not to notice. It still feels good, he feels important enough that she won't leave him behind in a sea of his self-spawned awkwardness.

She rests her forehead on his collar bone and leans in, sighing and returning the hug. Her arms link around his lower back and she has to admit that she likes being able to reach around him, feeling on equal ground and not _small_.

"Yeah, she was pretty right." Hiccup admits, tightening the hug briefly before stepping away, avoiding clinginess even though he wants to latch on forever. "Because I don't know what I'm doing, at all." He admits, his face red and his voice uneven. "I didn't believe that was real when I woke up. I thought it was a bizarre dream."

Astrid listens silently, her heart aching and swelling alternately, as she watches the nervous line of his jaw move under his skin.

"Was it a good dream?" She asks after a moment of silence, her voice small in her throat. She catches herself leaning, completely unintentionally onto the balls of her feet.

"A great one." He admits. The dogs towards the front of the shelter bark frantically, a living doorbell alerting them to someone else entering to look around. Astrid's heels come back to the ground with a compacted shudder and she smiles.

"So…"Astrid leads, and that open look on her face is no longer disconcerting. "Let's get back out there," she looks back at Spike one last time before walking down the hallway, with a grin, "We've got work to do."

00000

**So, the response for the last chapter was absolutely overwhelming! I love you guys more than you can ever know, and I'm so glad that you appreciate this story.**

**Like I've spent the past two days in a constant state of blush, I love y'all. **

**This chapter mostly focuses on exploring Astrid's new…open character, summing some stuff up, clarifying stuff. Aah Ruffnut as the voice of reason, I was so happy when her nerd affliction finally paid off within the story line. **

**I can't thank you guys enough for your overwhelming support, and as I said at the top, I promise that I'm not sacrificing quality for speed. During a massive writers' block epidemic I ended up writing this chunk of the story to give myself something to work towards, so it's already stored in notebooks and half written snippets on my hard drive!**

**And by the way…71 reviews in a day? Holy crap, I don't deserve you guys. Thank you eternally, and I'd love to hear what you think of the follow up! **


	28. Chapter 28

**DUN DUN DUN!**

00000

"How'd we do?" Astrid asks, sauntering up beside Hiccup and resting her elbows on the hood of his car while he flicks through a stack of papers. He nods towards her, indicating that he heard her and drags his finger down a sheet, deep in thought before he turns to her.

"Five left, including Spike." He's disappointed in the left-overs, but too pleased with the overall success to keep a smile off of his face.

"Don't include Spike, she's mine," She snaps, the possessive tone feeling good on her tongue.

"Ok, four left," he amends, "Don't you want to bring Spike?" He asks looking through his windshield and checking the cleanliness of his rear seat, and she shakes her head.

"I want to have all her stuff with me when I get her," it feels dumb saying that out loud and Hiccup can't help but grin at her ridiculousness.

"Right, that's probably good," he jokes, organizing his papers with stubbornly busy hands, "because Spike isn't going to love you if you don't have a new collar for her."

"Shut up," Astrid punches him in the arm and rolls her eyes, looking down at the list of still homeless dogs. "What are we going to do with them?" She reads his mind, drumming her long fingers on the hood of the car.

"Not exactly sure," Hiccup admits, a little sad but mostly calculating as he examines situation, "I'll think about it," he submits eventually, pushing the thought into his churning subconscious. He glances at her for ideas, and gets more than a little lost in her focused expression. "Worse comes to worse we can drive them up to a shelter in Wyoming."

"Yeah, it does seem like a bit of a cop out though," she admits, and Hiccup shrugs, choosing to focus on the dogs' immediate survival. "We'll think of something," Astrid agrees, glancing behind her at the shelter. "I mean—"

"Well bye then!" Ruff shouts across the parking lot, jokingly annoyed as she waves, and Astrid sneaks a sideways look at Hiccup before standing and jogging backwards.

"I should go talk to her really quick," she announces, thinking that Ruff at least deserves to know that she was right, before turning and running over to the two of them. Hiccup can't help but watch a little wistfully, wondering just how many times he can get away with hugging her before she gets frustrated with him.

The couple is struggling to get their two newly adopted dogs to stay in the backseat. Fishlegs' diabetic senior is already snoring happily, but Ruff's hyper young pit keeps bailing out with window and trying to play with the ground. The two girls laugh about something as Astrid helps roll up the open window, and Fishlegs looks around awkwardly before shuffling towards Hiccup, hands in his pockets.

"Thanks for the help today," Hiccup starts, edging around the front bumper of his car to talk to his friend.

"No problem." Fishlegs awkwardly looks over at the girls before taking a rushed step forward and speaking in a low, urgent voice. "Astrid kissed you last night?"

"And apparently she decided to broadcast it," Hiccup mumbles, slouching deeper into his already oversized jacket.

"Well…are you going to do anything about it?" Fishlegs asks, tremendously excited and nervous for his friend. He might also be enjoying his position of relative expertise a little bit too much as he urges forward, eyes wide in his round face. "Because you have about a three day window before your chances of success plummet into the single digits."

"Thanks for that confidence boost," Hiccup wipes a nervous hand over his face, grunting to himself in a muffled, frustrated way as he glances over at his more _experienced_ friend. "What exactly—If I wanted to _do _something about it…" he starts, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground as he fidgets, toe of his left shoe digging in the dirt. "How exactly—Ugh, never mind."

"Are you asking for advice?" Fishlegs asks, perplexed as he glances over at the crazy girlfriend he still only understands 22 percent of the time.

"Maybe?" Hiccup shrugs, trying to sound less awkward and failing miserably.

"Like…what kind of advice?" He needs specificity, the facts are already welling up around his brain like a flash flood.

"Like…how do I know if she even wants me to kiss—try anything?" The smaller boy asks miserably, so much hope balanced on such a pathetically small platform of experience.

"Oh, I don't know the answer to that," Fishlegs says simply, unperturbed and waiting for the next trivia question as Hiccup shoots him an incredulous look. "Well, Ruff just…huh, I'm not exactly sure if I've ever initiated physical contact," he muses quietly, and Hiccup groans.

"This is hopeless, I give up, totally fine with friends. I'm going to quit while I'm ahead," he bemoans, feeling beyond help.

"Come on," Fishlegs urges, voice still optimistic. "You could pretend to be suave, she'd probably never guess that you've never had a girlfriend, Ruff didn't bring it up with me." He declares proudly, and Hiccup hopes that he's not half that obvious.

"Pretty sure she was saving your feelings there, dude," Hiccup says through a dry laugh, and Fishlegs frowns. "Plus, I already told Astrid that I had no idea what I'm doing," he admits, wishing he could take it back…but not the hug. Just all the words that came out of his mouth in and around the duration of the hug, it'd be great if those disappeared from living memory.

"You told her that?" Fishlegs looks at him like he's the bravest man alive, and Hiccup flushes, glaring up at the other boy.

"Yeah, because Astrid and I actually say words to each other, we don't just suck each other's faces off," he retorts defensively and Fishlegs stares back.

"But Ruff is my girlfriend."

"Yeah, again, you win," he kicks at a rock, missing it entirely and stumbling forward, doing his best to play it off as a nervous shuffle, Fishlegs isn't fooled as his hand comes to his round chin, stroking pensively. "What? Pondering Thoreau over there?" Hiccup snaps, crossing his arms and wishing he'd never started talking in the first place.

"Just calculating the probability of Astrid showing up immediately and specifically at your house after breaking up with Scott," Hiccup rolls his eyes. There's not an equation for that, Fishlegs must be mocking him. "It's extremely improbable that she'd do that if she didn't like you." That's as close to fluffy inspiration as the two are going to get and Hiccup sighs.

"Point being?"

"When someone smiles at you like that, you need to chill out," Fishlegs instructs sagely, a small grin on his own face as he gestures to the girls across the parking lot. Astrid's peeking over her shoulder, grinning embarrassed in their direction as she waves at Ruff, chatter cutting off before she jogs over. "And that'd be my cue, good luck buddy." Fish leaves with a pat on his friend's shoulder, walking to Ruff's car with increasing purpose as the girl starts honking the horn impatiently.

00000

"Do I really have to get a cage?" Astrid doesn't like the look of the kennels in the PetSmart hallway, they're dismal and small. She's saving Spike from a cage, not putting her in some uncomfortable little prison.

"Well, you don't _have_ to," Hiccup prods, "but they are den animals and she is crate trained…" He has spent the last fifteen minutes explaining the advantages of kennels, but it has all fallen on deaf ears.

"I'll come back and get one if she's a problem." Astrid announces with confident finality, pushing her half full cart down the hallway. She's already decided on a collar and leash, ridiculous and girly purple, food and water bowls, and a bag of midrange chicken based food. She'd been obsessed with a bison protein, grain-free blend, but Hiccup had to talk her out of it. Go from Iams to that stuff, and she'll spend her first week with a puking dog.

When Hiccup catches up to Astrid in the next aisle, she's examining raw hides like fine jewelry, tending towards the three foot long monstrosities on the top shelf. He can't help but smile at her eager to please expression and fondness grows in his chest like a bubble.

"She likes bully sticks," He grabs a package of two off of a hook and hands it to Astrid, who examines it through new mother eyes.

"What are these?" She brings them to her face to examine them more closely, almost gagging at the unexpected scent. "They smell awful." She thrusts them away from herself so forcefully they hit him in the chest.

"Bully sticks." The explanation is apparently unsuitable and she throws him a caustic look that just says 'I can read.' "They're freeze dried bull…penis." He admits like it's a shameful secret with a shrug. "Dogs are gross." She examines him for a second and then throws it in the cart, both disgusted and satisfied.

"Does she need toys?" Astrid turns to look at a wall of brightly colored squeakers and tennis balls.

"Eh, she has a couple from the shelter that you can have," he offers, and she smiles in thanks proceeding to the checkout.

It feels good to turn the bad blood of the hundred dollar bill in her pocket into something good, and she has no regrets as she insistently lugs all the bags across the dark parking lot to Hiccup's car. She loads them into the backseat, and Hiccup notices her glancing at her watch for what must be the fiftieth time since they left the shelter.

"Are you late for something?" He asks and she shrugs, shutting his door more forcefully than is really necessary.

"I've got that feeling like I'm supposed to be somewhere, you know what I mean?" That impossibly present pressure to be getting ready, or going somewhere must be left over from the dozens of Saturday nights before this one. She looks surreptitiously around the parking lot, half expecting Scott to peel around the corner and ask her why she isn't ready to go out yet.

"Not at all," he shrugs, "I never have to be anywhere."

"That must be nice," she snips, momentarily jealous.

"_Do_ you have to go somewhere?" He asks, confused by her irritated tone.

"No." He looks at her expectantly and she sighs, leaning on his car, "I just…everyone's probably getting all costumed…" Her tone hovers somewhere between nervous and nostalgic and she laughs dryly, "Ruff was pretty excited to be a Viking again, don't be surprised if she shows up at school on Monday in a horned helmet."

"Er—if you have somewhere _better_ to be—"

"No! That's not it at all," she insists, smile earnest, "It's just…strange. Really strange." She shrugs, staring at her toes, but her mouth keeps moving entirely without her permission. "Honestly, I hate Halloween. Well, I hate the whole dressing up, mindless drinking bullshit." Her toes slip across the newly painted yellow line in the parking lot, and she drawls on, Hiccup's eyes like lasers boring into the side of her face. "Scott…it's the only time I've seen him schedule anything, figuring out whose party is best at what time, timing when we drink so we can drive to the next one…" Talking about Scott feels too much like airing out old laundry on a _date_, and she clams up, shrugging as she looks up at Hiccup. "I guess…I'm just realizing that everything's…_different _now. When I don't show up anywhere tonight…I don't know what school is going to be like on Monday," she stumbles through the realization that should be profound, but seems unimportant.

When she doesn't make an _appearance_, she's truly engraving the great Astrid Hofferson's tombstone.

Hiccup looks at her curiously, before grinning with an idea.

"Come on," he waves her along with him as he crosses the suburban strip mall parking lot towards the grocery store, and she follows him cautiously. There's too much _unknown_ in her life right now without Hiccup dragging her on _unplanned_ escapades.

"Where are we going?" She asks, nearly trotting to keep up with his long-legged, purposeful steps.

"It's Halloween," he hops onto the curb, not stopping as he strides forward to the bins flanking the entrance of the store. "I want to carve a pumpkin." He turns back to grin at her, gap-toothed smile way too alluring to be rational.

"This is ridiculous," Astrid laughs, hanging back as Hiccup leans into one of the cardboard containers, perusing the picked over pumpkins with a critical eye.

"Come over here," he urges and she shakes her head, grin sneaking onto her face even as she looks both ways, self-consciously horrified that a group of kids from school is going to walk by.

"Seriously," she laughs, embarrassed as she edges forward, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him out of the bin. "Let's just go."

"If you don't pick out a pumpkin, I'm buying you this one," he threatens, holding a wrinkled, moldy thing a little larger than a grapefruit by its wrinkled brown stem. Astrid grimaces and flinches away from the smell, shooting Hiccup a grudging look.

"I don't want a pumpkin."

"Ok, moldy pumpkin it is, to the lady up front," he sounds like an announcer at an auction, shouting to everyone and their mother as he tries to hand her the disgusting gourd. She dodges back, reaching into the pile and grabbing the first pumpkin she sees that's not completely odious looking.

"Fine, I picked a pumpkin, can we get out of here? Or do we have to call NASA and have them tell the Mars rover?" She snaps and Hiccup grins at her smugly, tucking his own squash under his arm.

"Interplanetary broadcasting not necessary," he smugly walks into the store, and she follows, her lips twitching defiantly into a smile.

00000

"This is…grosser than I remember," Astrid admits, prying the newly cut lid off of her pumpkin and wrinkling her nose at the mess of seeds and pulp inside of it. Hiccup laughs at her expression, fumbling with his wallet as he tries to defend their large pizza from Toothless. He makes it to the table, nearly throwing the cardboard box down and grabbing the wolf by the ruff of his neck, tugging him backwards with the skidding sound of claws on hardwood.

"It's not that bad," he peers over the table and looks into the pumpkin. She attempts to take his word for it, reaching in and gagging when her hand touches the slimy guts, jerking away like it burned her.

"That's not going to work," she admits, pushing the pumpkin away from her and reaching for the pizza.

"Come on, you can deal with broken bones and blood," his eyes flick to her knee, "but a pumpkin is too gross?"

"Yup," she laughs, realizing that it really does sound absurd. Hiccup shakes his head at her and grabs the opened gourd, sitting down across the table.

"Fine, I'll scoop it out," An all too familiar fuzzy fond feeling rushes through Astrid and she decides to drown it in pizza rather than deal with it at the moment.

Maybe later…

She shoves that particular thought from her head with scalding pepperoni on the roof of her mouth.

"You don't have to do that."

"You think it's a favor?" He laughs sarcastically, "Now I have a practice pumpkin, I can mess this up all I want and to a good job on mine." The reflex is to threaten him that she expects perfection, but in the moment, that request seems so ridiculous that she snorts to herself, the noise drawing a peculiar look from Hiccup.

"What?" She checks her upper lip with her hand that's not holding a slice of steaming pizza. "I'm fine with that plan, I don't have to touch the pumpkin…" She struggles for a disgusting enough word, "intestines."

He laughs, picking a spoon off of the table and starts scooping along the inside of the orange flesh, removing piles of seeds and slime into a metal bowl on the table. Astrid watches, motoring through a second slice of pizza before she pulls his pumpkin in front of her, standing and using a sharp paring knife to cut a neat hexagonal lid out of the top, wiggling the piece loose with careful motions.

"Thanks," he murmurs, struggling a particularly difficult clump of seeds, his arm jerking back and elbowing him in the side when the juicy strings finally break loose.

"No problem," She wipes the honed edge of the knife on a towel and admires it, "I do like the cutting."

"Why doesn't that shock me?" He asks. In another life she was probably even scarier than she is now. He pushes the cleaned out pumpkin back to her, pulling his own across the table towards him and resuming scooping.

"Thanks," she sits down in front of her canvas, dramatically staring at the smooth orange surface before mindlessly doodling across the surface with the tip of her knife, not really cutting, more just scratching at the skin. Hiccup really does try not to stare, he tries to focus on dutifully removing seeds, "what are you staring at?" Astrid asks quietly, after a moment of tolerating—no, enjoying—his eyes drilling into her face. She blushes slightly, pushing her bangs away from her eyes with a twitchy hand.

"What are you going to carve?" He asks, diverting the awkward question, and she cocks her head, uncomprehending. "Into the pumpkin?"

"Oh, right," she shakes her head clear, "I have no idea."

"I should have never let you touch that knife," he looks at her wearily and she realizes that she's running her thumb over the edge of it, gently flirting with the sharp edge.

"I'm seventeen, Hiccup, I think I can handle a knife," even as she says it, she puts the blade down, drumming her fingers on the gourd.

"I know," he agrees, and she can't help but recognize the grudging tone of his agreement, trying to keep her from punching him. If her arms were longer, she'd punch him, but well…she'd look like she was trying awfully hard if she walked around the table to do it.

She stares into space, he did hug her earlier, and he did tell her that he wasn't _experienced_. That's not exactly subtle, is it? She contemplates what would end up happening if she did walk around the table, trying hard be damned—

"…strid? Are you—"

"I'm fine," she jolts back to the present, licking her suddenly uncomfortably parched lips as she searches for him. He's now standing by the lid of the pizza box, two slices in hand, fiddling with the cardboard.

"I was asking you if you were going to have more pizza." She snatches another two pieces from the box and avoids eye contact.

"Sure," she starts eating, looking absently around the room and fixating on the mellow fire crackling in the hearth. She picks up the knife, tracing a design over the surface of the pumpkin before actually biting into the flesh, enjoying the smooth slide of sharp steel. Screw college, she should be a butcher.

She carves a rough flame shape, five slivers with frayed ends meeting at some sort of point, where she guesses she'll have to create a log or something. The knife ends up in her other hand, pushing from the inside with its delicate point as she carefully wiggles the shapes out, setting them one by one in the dish along with the seeds. She's messing with the third one, meticulously preserving its jagged edge, when Hiccup's voice behind her shoulder makes her jump about a foot.

"What are—"

"Jesus, are you trying to make me cut my fingers off?" She snaps, turning around to punch him and freezing when he's _right _there, squinting over her shoulder like he's analyzing an impressionist painting. Her heart rate at least doubles as she tries to ignore the unassuming clean scent of him. This is ridiculous, and she remembers Ruff's blunt advice. _'Either kiss him again or tell him that you're not going to.'_

The other girl _is_ right of course, dancing around the point like it's not there isn't good for anyone, but…but she hasn't made that decision herself quite yet.

Honestly, a small part of her was sure that Hiccup was going to turn into a _boy_ as soon as she hung around him as a single entity, not the untouchable half of a couple. She was almost hoping for the moment that he started using pick-up lines and trying to grope her, because it would bring a wonderful predictability to this new realm of interactions.

But he remained the utterly and confusingly _real_ Hiccup she's come to know, and she's left clinging to that wobbly feeling she hoped would never start to make sense.

"What is that?" He asks, apparently unperturbed by his baffling closeness.

"It's fire," she mumbles, her elbow nudging him away from her thinking space. Nudging.

She _nudged_. He didn't even flinch.

She wonders if he turns her into some other, gentler version of herself, or if she's just not as brutal as she pretends to be. She's not even mad that it's probably the latter.

"Fire?" He cocks his head, "I like it." This is all still _fun_ to him isn't it? He's still on cloud nine because…well, he's happy because she's here with him.

That thought hits her like a hammer and she struggles to keep her pensive expression together. He's happy because of her. She's making him happy by sitting here in his house, carving a pumpkin.

"Is this a date?" She blurts, wrapping her head around recent developments and finding it all to be a real stretch.

"What?" He turns the color of a tomato, and she stares at him aghast.

"It is a date! You tricked me into a date with you!" She ignores how ridiculous that sounds, as her mouth drops open, aghast. He holds his arms up in confused surrender, stepping away from her.

"I didn't!" He backpedals, eyes wide, "I swear this isn't erm…a date—" He promises awkwardly and she crosses her arms, turning back to the pumpkin she's for some reason still determined to finish carving.

"Well, especially since you cheated and didn't even _ask_ me."

"Wait, if I had asked you—" He starts, stumbling over the insinuation that she might have said yes.

"It doesn't work like that," she instructs him, heart beating like she just sprinted a mile. Her knee complains and she uncrosses legs that she didn't realize were tightly wound together. "You can't just backtrack and ask me after I'm already committed."

"You're committed?" The room falls silent, except for Toothless' anxious wagging from his bed on the other side of the table.

"I'm halfway into carving a bonfire, aren't I?"

"True," he mumbles, and she watches him slowly pick his way around the table, sitting in front of his own pumpkin and carefully taking a knife in his hand. He thinks for a minute before turning to the wolf on the floor, and Astrid's unsure if it's meant to be diversionary or not when he starts talking to the dog, "Well, put on your best model face, bud." The wolf wags, smiling in a way that's far from threatening and Hiccup laughs. "Fierce."

Astrid looks up from her own carving to watch Hiccup plot his, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration and stealing way too much of her focus.

This is ridiculous.

Stripped down to her basest essentials, Astrid may be gentle, she may even be _sweet_, as Hiccup horrifyingly suggested in what feels like another century, but she's not…timid. The word makes her grimace and she stares across the table at him, eyes dead serious.

"Are you going to ask me out?" She blurts after a moment of awkward eye contact, and he looks at her like she's grown gills, sputtering in the back of his throat like a dying walrus.

"What?" The question doesn't compute in his head, like she's speaking Japanese, and it just happened to sound quite a lot like her asking him if he's going to ask her out.

Which she couldn't have, that's ridiculous.

"Are you going to ask me out?" She repeats, her voice slowing down like she's talking to a six year old. His eyes are distracting, forest green and beautiful in contrast to his crimson blush.

"_Why_ would you ask that?" His voice cracks and she can't believe how badly she wants an answer to her question. It's irrational and stupid and…it's the first thing she's done in years without worrying about the approval of the general public.

In fact, knowing that they won't approve makes the whole thing dangerously appealing.

Not that she wouldn't have done it anyway, the shock value is just an added perk, tiny in comparison to how relieved she'll be to stop beating around the bush. Neither of them are particularly subtle, she notes, and maybe that's a good thing.

"Because I want to know," she shrugs, nonchalance ruined by her blush. She probably has crazy eyes. She can just feel how insane she probably looks. "Well, are you?"

"I don't know," Hiccup sighs, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. But of course Astrid the insane would probably show up with a shovel and keep asking him the same insane questions. "Honestly, you're still acting like a nut-job, and I don't know if that's just you or some relationship fallout…thing," he admits and she has to admire his honesty.

"How am I acting like a nut-job?" Just because he's honest doesn't mean he can get away with accusing her of being crazy.

"You're demanding to know if –"

"I'm not demanding," she looks towards the front door, expression meaningful. "But I thought I'd made _myself_ clear." The words are too truthful, raw like a wound in the drafty air.

"Then are you going to ask _me_ out?" He proposes, and she stares at him like he's grown a second head.

"I made the first move, why should I have to ask you?" She veers away from the deeply disturbing 'you're the boy' argument, crossing her arms.

"I hugged you, that was the second move," he challenges and she wants to punch him. She sets down the knife and after a second of staring at it, she slides it away from her, halfway down the table. She doesn't want to slice her finger off in this moment of absolutely overwhelming frustration.

"This isn't chess," she retorts, nowhere as fierce as she'd like to be.

"I'm not the one who started counting." At this point, Hiccup isn't sure whether he's chasing or running away. He feels fenced in by a probably painful beating and the slim chance she'll actually take him up on his bravado, and he can't decide which direction is more terrifying. He has absolute proof now that he doesn't know what to do with her.

"You're so…stubborn," she seethes at him, grinding her teeth.

"You're no pushover." He answers, before he has the _nerve_ to go back to carving his pumpkin as if he isn't driving her up the wall. She could kill him.

Is this what having _feelings_ for someone is like? She'd stopped advancing at her first girlish crush, and this is all a bit…frantic. It feels like someone has her brain in a jar and is shaking it as fast as they can.

She didn't know it was possible to be torn between kissing someone and punching their lights out. With Scott it was always one or the other, drifting between the emotions with no strange overlap, but this is stronger, infuriatingly heady.

The knife finds its way back to her hand and she resumes carving in silence, punching out her last couple of shapes before she starts shaving down the skin of the pumpkin, creating a muted design around the already cut out portions. Neither of them say anything, and his stupid tongue is sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates, chunks of his pumpkin joining the bowl of discarded parts.

Hiccup is trying to keep his hands from shaking, he's an idiot.

He can't help but wonder what his dad would think of him right now, sitting across the table from the prettiest girl he's ever seen and arguing with her over whether it's his _turn_. He knows it's juvenile…but he'd underestimated the fear of letdown. He's been building this up in his head for almost four years now, going over and over it in his mind, practicing whatever suave phrase he was _sure_ would make her fall at his feet.

But it's nothing like that. _She's_ nothing like that. She's insane, for one, certifiably. She's strong and beautiful and terrifying and he doesn't want her to fall at his feet. He wants her standing beside him, not trailing him like the lovesick puppy he used to be.

Then again, he's pretty sure that Astrid's incapable of trailing anyone.

He wonders what Fishlegs would say about his chances of success now that he's argued with her.

He should have walked around the table and kissed her.

He should have kissed her last night.

Above all, he's so terrified to kiss her.

It's a solid half hour before either of them says anything. Astrid fusses over her carving for at least five minutes after she makes her last real cut, smoothing and cleaning around the edges of the carefully trimmed shapes before sighing too loudly. He glances over at her and she turns her pumpkin around on the table, showing him the carved side.

"I've exhausted my artistic ability for the week," she admits, shoving her unbearable frustration under the rug for the time being. He looks up from his carving, smiling reflexively at her masterpiece. It's very clean, neatly done, and he can see her hyper-efficient knife scarring the pale shaved area.

"Definitely a fire," he comments, and she shrugs, a lazily proud smile splitting her cheeks.

"Thanks," she stares at the table, fingers tracing the wood grain before she glances back up at Hiccup. "I'm going to go find a scary movie on TV, it doesn't feel like Halloween without a little bit of gore."

"Yeah, you go do that," he ushers her off, "I'm going to stay and finish this." She stands, walking around the table to peak over his shoulder. There's a portrait of Toothless sketched into the orange gourd, completely accurate apart from the wolf's serious expression. Astrid rolls her eyes and resists the urge to smooth Hiccup's crazy hair as she saunters out of the room.

He's tempted to get up and follow her, he really is, but his nerves keep him firmly anchored to the seat as he finishes his pumpkin, even taking the fifteen minutes to try and simulate a fur texture around the wolf's orange face. When he's finally satisfied, he looks around the room to find that even Toothless has left him for the warmth of the next room, and he sighs, rubbing the heels of his palms over tired eyes before standing up, stiffly following Astrid.

The clock on the wall tells him that she's been gone at least an hour, and he's not shocked at all to find her curled up in her standard spot on the couch, snoring lightly.

He sits down on the other end of the couch, glancing her way and instantly wishing that he hadn't when his own stupidity comes crashing down like a hailstorm. _She_ kissed him? She's too beautiful to be real, with her normally alert features soft—

"Aah!" Hiccup yelps, the graphic disembowelment of an army of zombies on the TV catching his eye. Astrid jolts awake, kicking him in the knee as she jerks up-right, looking around for what could have made him scream.

"What?" She asks after a moment, not having found anything, and he points at the screen, face embarrassingly green. Astrid fumbles with the remote, groggy cloud clearing from her vision as she flicks away from the offending channel. "It's corn syrup Hiccup, they're throwing corn syrup at each other." She wipes her eyes, stretching as she checks her watch, more than a little discombobulated.

"You fell asleep in front of _that_?" He asks, aghast as he tries to get his gag reflex under control.

"Corn syrup," she reiterates, rolling her eyes at his squeamishness at the same time as she's glad the dark room hides her blush. Flicking through the channels, she settles for an old black and white Frankenstein movie.

She can't help but be sympathetic towards the monster, cruel because no one gave him a chance to be kind. It makes her think of Spike, and how excited she is to take the dog home.

"If you want to go to sleep, you can go to one of the guest rooms," he offers, overly polite and she snorts.

"What? No offer of a ride home?" He shakes his head.

"I don't want you to go home." His tone catches her aback, and she can't tell whether he's flirting or protecting. Both are unreasonably nice and she sighs, turning to face him, sitting on her foot in the middle of the long couch. The awkward silence drags on, his uneasy heat radiating off of his leg and warming her knee that's almost too close for comfort. "I still can't believe you fell _asleep_ with that…movie on," he muses, and she laughs lightly.

"I'm tired," when she glances up at him, it's purposeful. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Why not?" His voice is hollowly clueless, so close to the cusp of a stutter that it _hurts_ to keep herself from punching him. She doesn't want to punch him.

She snaps. She's done talking about this over and over and over again. It's been one day dancing around something that may or may not be great and she's impatient.

"You're…ugh—" She starts to _insult_ him, the familiar tactic of getting a rise not quite tired, but she cuts herself off, gripping his shoulders with sudden bruising hands and leaning in. When she kisses him, that delightfully unfamiliar rush flows through her, the absolute assurance that for once, everything is absolutely _right_.

It's enough to keep her leaning in no matter how discouraging his frightened stillness is.

When his lips move timidly against hers, it's a revelation, her death grip on his shoulders relaxing as she leans in, coaxing him along. This is what last night should have been.

She pulls away a few seconds later, wide eyed, breathless and satisfied as she sits back on her heels, smiling smugly at him. _That's _better.

Hiccup's main emotion of the moment is relief. She kissed him, he didn't make her mad. She's _smiling_ at him in a way that makes him absolutely dizzy, and he grins stupidly.

"That's all it is?" He remarks quietly, expectations of lofty failure disappearing with misplaced nerves. "I could get used to that."

"_All_ it is?" Astrid echoes him, her heart still beating like crazy in her chest as she slugs him in the arm. He barely flinches, eyes dazed to match her own blurry tunnel vision. "You're…you're insane." She's never been this out of breath, it's like she's been hit by lightning.

"I just expected…" he trails off as she twists in her seat, flopping bonelessly against his side and tugging his unfamiliarly scrawny arm around her. It's warm and unreasonably _safe_, and she feels her eyelids droop.

"Expected what?"

"Expected…more…I don't know, terror," he admits, his arm resting lightly against her side like she's going to shove it away. There's some sort of magic in the air, if he looks at her, she'll disappear.

"Hiccup?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up," she finishes sweetly, before letting her head fall back against his less than padded shoulder. She doesn't stop her heavy eyelids from falling shut as she basks in a cocoon of bony warmth that she never knew she wanted.

Toothless takes immediate advantage of the cushion that Astrid vacated, slinking up onto the still warm leather and curling into a harmless looking ball, resting his chin on her extended thigh and staring at Hiccup with brilliant, accusatory eyes. The boy cautiously lets his hand slide down the side of her ribs, fingertips barely touching the soft skin above her hip where her tank top has ridden up.

The wolf blinks judgmentally.

"What are you looking at?" Hiccup blushes and points at the TV screen with his free hand, "Just watch the movie, bud. Stupid, nosy wolf." He mumbles.

Astrid smiles under the guise of sleep until it becomes a reality.

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**It's an understatement to say I'm nervous about this one y'all…the biggest understatement in the history of Thursdays. **

**I don't really have anything to say except you're all wonderful, and I can't thank you enough for your kind and interested reviews, and I hope that you all like Fishlegs, he's so fun to write. **

**Run on sentence like a boss.**

**Anyway, let me know what you think of this, I couldn't get it right for the longest time…but finally the characters seemed to take over and…**

**I like it, probably more than I should. I hope you all do too, and I'd love to hear what you think.**

**Thanks!**


	29. Chapter 29

**DUN DUN DUNNNNN!**

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The early morning light drifts through the living room window and Hiccup squints his eyes more tightly shut, clinging to dreamland. There was this awesome dream with Astrid and kissing and—

His back twinges and he slowly opens his eyes, uncomfortable and discombobulated. He blinks twice, arms unfolding as he tries to stretch, only something is holding him down, a weight pressing against his upper stomach like an anchor.

Why is he on the couch?

He reaches down to push Toothless's dumb clingy head off of him, only to tangle his fingers in soft hair that he instantly knows is flaxen. Astrid has her back against his side, with a bony shoulder digging into his ribs while her head rests on his chest. He wonders how she's even asleep with her neck bent like that, but any immediate concern for her comfort is overshadowed by him marveling at the situation.

Last night drifts through his mind like a lazy dream and he looks around the room, looking past Toothless curled between Astrid's long legs and out the east facing windows. It can't be much past seven, and he bizarrely laments waking up so early on a Sunday.

He absentmindedly pushes her untidy hair off of her face, ignoring lower back pain to appreciate how soft her face looks when she's asleep. It's no longer frozen into that worried mask that seemed impossibly constant last month at the hospital. Her mouth twitches into as his hand grazes her forehead and he grins at the sudden change in his luck.

Shifting carefully, he scoots into an approximation of sitting normally, anchoring her to him with an arm around her ribs and a hand on her shoulder. Her head bobs gently down his chest to rest on his lap. In a miraculous moment of thinking clearly, he lifts her head, sliding a couch pillow underneath.

He hopes that she's comfortable.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he freezes, wondering who the hell would be calling him before eight on a Sunday. After a moment of glaring at his vibrating pocket, impossibly loud in the otherwise silent room, he decides to ignore the call in order to avoid waking Astrid. Because in all honestly, her head on his lap is one of the best things that's ever happened to him.

Toothless is dreaming, thumping his tail on the couch, mewling happily in his sleep, and Hiccup can't help but think how _perfect_ everything is. For once, absolutely everything is going right. Happy dog, beautiful girl, he'd never dreamed that anything could be half this good, especially for _him_.

Skinny, strange, too smart Hiccup. _Useless_. Asthmatic, un-athletic…kissing the prettiest girl in school.

He smiles smugly, his expression ecstatic as his hand lands warmly on her side. He turns the TV onto history channel on half mute, his thumb slowly stroking her ribcage.

No harm in that.

He smiles, feeling all too warm with her gentle breathing under his fingers.

It's at least half an hour before Astrid starts showing signs of life, forehead wrinkling and causing shallow shadows across face as she mumbles, hand twitching against her side. Toothless groans, not exactly a fan of his bed's subtle movements. The wolf opens bleary eyes and looks at Hiccup with his chin on Astrid's hip.

"Sleep well?" He asks, and the dog sighs, shutting his eyes and grunting. "Fine then, you just…sleep" his usual sarcastic turn of phrase escapes him in the genuine happiness of the moment.

The calmness in the room is broken by Astrid suddenly sitting up with a particularly violent stretch, the heel of her hand striking him in the nose shockingly forceful.

He yelps in pain, checking for blood as she twists, obviously unsure of where she is. An overwhelming rush of embarrassed fondness hits her with a slam of worry and she brings a rushed hand to his face, accidently smacking him in the cheek with the haste of her movement.

"Oh, shit, sorry!" She apologizes awkwardly, pushing up off of him with a hand on his knee and an arm on the back of the couch. Toothless wakes up again, concerned with the commotion and lurches forward sleepily, licking Astrid's face and shoving her flat onto Hiccup's lap with one ungainly paw. Astrid gasps, wind knocked out of her as she chokes out a laugh, sputtering on Toothless' invasive tongue.

"Down!" Hiccup commands, and the dog shrinks smaller, hoping he won't have to obey if he gets tiny enough on Astrid's chest. She groans at the dog elbow to her diaphragm and Hiccup grabs Toothless' harness, lifting and shoving him off of the couch. "Down." The look on the dog's face is completely betrayed as he slumps into a sleepy pile on Hiccup's feet.

"Sorry about him," Hiccup mumbles, shy smile frozen on his face as he turns to stare at the hand that's somehow ended up resting on her stomach. She follows his gaze, eyes widening until she exhales deeply and sits up. The _offending _hand slides back to his own lap and she wipes her hair back from her face, hands clammy from more than Toothless' drool.

"It's fine," she mumbles, before her voice comes back full force, "Did I sleep on you all night?" The crick in her neck seems to answer her before he can, twinging as he turns her head to look at him, immediately wishing she hadn't when blood rushes to her face.

"I guess so," Hiccup shrugs, hands folded in his lap like she's afraid to touch her.

"I didn't mean—" She starts, familiar wall starting its ascent, before the last two days hit her like a mallet, and she grins. "Thanks…you're a decent pillow."

"Glad I could help," he responds, equally awkward.

Astrid can't help but think that it's a wonderful awkward, warm flutters crowding in her stomach as she glances up at him through her eyelashes. She habitually checks her watch, tearing her eyes away from his unrealistically entrancing face and curses the digital screen.

"Shit, it's 8:15, I was supposed to be running an hour ago." He can't help but laugh at how stressed she sounds, and she glares at him. "What?"

"Don't you have all day to run?"

"Well…I guess, but I always go at seven," she answers, feeling sheepish as she pushes herself to her feet, nervously straightening her clothes and pushing her hair off of her face. She gives up on the failing braid, tugging her tie out of the tangled mess and scraping her hair into a ponytail.

"Do you have to go _right_ now?" He asks, and Astrid freezes, recognizing the hopeful expression on his face. The last time she saw that expression was at a party two nights previous, Scott's too handsome mug piqued in expectation.

Hiccup wants her to kiss him again.

She stares him down, waiting for the dread, waiting for the revulsion. She waits to want to punch him, she waits to feel small.

None of those comparatively horrible feelings hit her across the face and she furrows her eyebrows, breathing in the silence.

Maybe…maybe she wants to kiss him too.

The thought makes her flush and she twists, searching around for her running shoes. She finds them by the couch and walks over, perching next to Hiccup as she tugs them over stubbornly stiff heels, tightening their laces and looking over at him.

"I have—I have a system," she finally finishes, flustered beyond belief as she stands up, limbering her knee. "I'll be back in half an hour."

"Sounds good," Hiccup sighs, pushing himself to his feet and awkwardly shuffling away from Toothless' still napping form. He almost hates her devotion to running, but if she weren't a neurotic perfectionist, she wouldn't be her.

"Ok," she smiles, at least he's not continuing to pressure her like Scott always did. She vows to stop comparing him to Scott, it's…

She read somewhere that was toxic for a _new_ relationship.

She's never felt so _naïve_.

It's instinctual when she wraps him in a hasty one-armed hug, before whirling and jogging out of the front door and down the driveway. Toothless looks up at Hiccup, begging in his unusually effective way to go with her, and the boy shakes his head.

"Nah, bud, you don't want to be insane like her," Hiccup jokes, "Running on purpose, that's not our thing." The wolf follows obediently to the kitchen, where Hiccup rummages for something that he can call breakfast for two people. He dumps Toothless's food into a bowl on the ground, and listens to the always happy tinkling of a dog eating breakfast.

He remembers Astrid's remark about not knowing what will happen at school on Monday and grins. He knows the feeling, but he can't help but admit that sometimes, mystery is a wonderful thing.

Hiccup hums too happily, smiling as he trips over his own feet on the way to the toaster. The gravel driveway crunches under somebody's tires, shockingly close to the house, and he freezes, looking curiously at the door. Toothless looks up from his breakfast, cocking his head at the door and trotting to where he can see the entryway.

A car door opens and shuts as Hiccup waits paralyzed, the reality of the situation dawning on him. His dad's not supposed to be home until eight.

Is he _sure_ it was eight pm?

Toothless looks at Hiccup curiously, smile nervous as heavy footsteps pound up to the front door.

"It's probably just a package," he comforts, but it's Sunday, and it's not a package. Toothless lies down, head cocked in the direction of the door as something heavy hits the ground with a loud curse.

"Shit!" Hiccup would recognize that booming voice anywhere and he frantically scrambles forward, grasping at Toothless's ruff and dragging him towards the back door. It's useless, he knows that, the latch is clicking open as he slips off of the dog's slick fur, watching horrified unable to stop reality from crashing down.

Gerard Haddock opens the front door, flinging it wide as Toothless lunges forward, growling and snarling, while Hiccup freezes, hands outstretched. The huge man reels backwards and Toothless jumps on his chest, teeth bared in a protective grimace as he ducks down to bite.

"Toothless, no!" The wolf looks back at his owner, and Gerard is instantly on his feet, kicking the wolf with outside and slamming the door. He doesn't give Hiccup a glance, doesn't bother to accuse his son as he picks up his phone, dialing angrily with too thick fingers. Hiccup stares blankly through the front windows at his pacing, panting, limping dog.

This is a dream. This is a horrible, awful, impossible dream.

It's been eons since Astrid woke up on him.

"…NOW! The blasted thing was in my house!" He's roaring into the phone while Hiccup's knees are shaking, threatening to dump him on the ground.

The call he ignored. That must have been…his dad always calls when he's on his way.

"Five minutes?! Make it four!" The elder Haddock hangs up the fancy new phone with an unimpressive stab at the touch screen, whirling and advancing on Hiccup, barrel chest heaving with anger and fear. "Why was that _thing_ in my house?" His voice is cold underneath the heat of his fury and Hiccup backs away, hands held up in surrender.

"I—I can explain."

Can he?

"You lied to me." He spots the half empty dog dish on the floor of the kitchen. "You've been keeping a wolf here. I thought I could trust you—"

"Just don't hurt him, don't hurt him." He struggles to keep his voice level.

"Don't hurt him? You're asking me not to hurt the wild animal you've been keeping behind my back!"

"Just please, Dad, let me explain." Hiccup begs, dignity forgotten as he tries not to watch Toothless nursing his bruised side.

"Go to your room." Gerard barks, on his last leg of sanity.

"Please Dad, I just—"

"You lied to me!" His voice rises in timber, and Hiccup juts his jaw forward, daring to push on. He can't let Toothless…he's got something to fight for now, more important than his own peace.

"I had to, you don't understand, I found him—"

"You're not my son!" The words, once said, cannot be taken back.

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The best part of Hiccup's house might be the roads surrounding it, Astrid smiles at the beautiful fall morning as she pounds up a hill. She looks across the road before crossing and jogging east, hoping to catch a glimpse of the shelter.

Everything is going to change today.

She's going to take home a dog, her own dog.

That probably nixes USC for school, but she has other choices that aren't as woefully parent approved. Hell, CU offered a buttoned up little package, and it's only forty minutes away. She wonders if Hiccup would watch Spike during the week, or maybe even Gobber. She knows how much they're both going to miss the shelter.

And then again, being close to home might not be too bad, if the last two nights were any _indication_. It's not like she'd ever actually have to set foot in her house again, and well, having a _friend_ so close would be nice.

Friend, boyfriend, whatever. It's not like anything is official anyway.

She expected the misery of her long term break-up to catch up to her by now, the fabled ice-cream craving, chocolate scarfing, weight-gaining misery. But she doesn't feel anything like that, she's fine. More than fine really, with leftover butterflies still fluttering in her stomach.

She's smiling as she comes to the end of her eastward path, looking out at the shelter, but her heart sinks when she finally sees the concrete building. It's entirely surrounded by workmen in hard hats, standing next to demolition equipment. Well, they are going to tear it down, maybe they're just scouting it out? She attempts to reason as she thinks of Spike, lonely and terrified in her corner of the shelter.

But it's a Sunday, and they wouldn't be there if they didn't have to be. A hellishly recognizable form walks to where she can see him, tweed suit, bald head, hulking shoulders. She'd recognize that dog-fighting asshole anywhere and her heart drowns in dread.

This is bad. This is beyond bad.

She hears the bulldozer fire up, rumbling and ominous behind her as she turns, tearing down the path.

She's never sprinted so fast in her life, ignoring the petulant throbbing of her knee as she pumps her arms, her chest heaving completely futile. As if she could ever get enough oxygen at this pace.

She comes to the road too anxious to be safe as she flings herself across it, cutting off a black and white van. It slams on its brakes, and in her panic, she barely sees the incomprehensibly angry passenger. It takes her a hundred meters to consolidate the huge man with the hundreds of campaign posters she must have seen in her life.

That was an animal control van with congressman Haddock in the front seat.

Somehow, she sprints faster, leaning over to spit up frothy angry bile before pushing on, knee pulsing and firm under her.

Her legs are quivering, muscles tired and done before she gets up his front steps. Her ankles threaten to buckle as she pounds on his front door, her whole body fighting to inhale the too thin air.

"Hiccup!" She shouts, slapping the door with an open palm. "Shelter! Hiccup…we've got to…go!" Her foot collides with the door in utter frustration and she growls, "Get down here! Hiccup!"

He swings the door away from her next knock and she stumbles forward, the floor rushing towards her flushed face until he catches her shoulders, righting her on unsteady feet. His eyes are red and he wipes a cheek, embarrassed that she noticed.

"He's got Toothless," Hiccup is miserable, his voice small and irreparably _broken_ in his throat.

"It's…worse than that," she chokes out, leaning on the door frame. She's out of shape.

In a bizarre tangent, her endorphin riddled braid starts planning an apparently needed sprint workout.

"Are you—" He's never seen her this out of breath.

"They're demolishing…today. Dog-fighting…there," she grabs his hand and drags him to the car, hoping he'll have a plan more brilliant than her idea to yell and scream until they stop.

By the time she's in the car, Hiccup is ready, punching it down the driveway at sixty miles an hour before she can manage to buckle her seatbelt. Astrid can finally breath again, though her throat is rubbed raw from failed attempts.

"You saw them?" Hiccup asks, swerving around a group of people on bicycles, his normally careful driving deranged.

"They've got a bulldozer, I don't know what the asshole is doing there." Her foot taps nervously on the floor, goosing her imaginary accelerator.

"Do you think they took the dogs out?" Hiccup asks and Astrid's chest constricts. They both know what's going to happen if animal control gets its hands on those dogs.

"We can't think like that," she retorts and Hiccup turns and snarls at her.

"Well, we can't…it isn't any better if they're still inside," He can almost feel their fear as their house falls down around them. On top of them.

"Drive faster. We have to beat them." He nods in curt agreement, and the engine whines.

"Did you see an animal control van head this way?" Hiccup turns sharply, drifting onto the dirt road to the shelter.

"Yeah, I think your dad was in it."

"Good," his car groans as he asks for more acceleration, "that means he doesn't know it's today. He'll raise hell."

Hiccup pulls up to a back door of the building that Astrid hasn't noticed before, taking a puff from his inhaler before shoving it in to his jeans pocket. He braces himself, mumbling something under his breath and hitting the wheel, psyching himself up. They get out of the car, stooping in front of the grill and talking in anxious whispers.

"What's the plan?" Astrid asks, feeling nervous as she glances at a group of oblivious construction workers on a smoke break.

"Honestly? Probably be an idiot and end up in getting arrested." He laughs miserably, his hands sweating as he struggles to take in the whole situation. The dogs inside, Toothless in the van, and the bulldozer.

"I don't want to go to jail."

"Then…" Hiccup's eyes light up as puzzle pieces click into place, "something crazy." He looks both ways then runs forward to hide in the shadow of the building. "Ok," his hands land firm on her shoulders, calming her enough to pay attention to his plan. "You're going to sneak around the building, and get Toothless out of that van." She'll be far more distracting than him, and that'll slow down the construction workers. It will also make it harder to get Toothless, but at least the wolf has more time than the dogs inside. "I'm going to go let the dogs out." He readies himself to run, and Astrid shakes her head.

"No way, you aren't fast enough. I'll be in and out in five minutes." Astrid insists, her calves flexing expectantly as she ignores the pain in her knee. At least she's getting her miles in for today. Hiccup hates the idea of sending Astrid into that building, but she's right. It makes more sense.

Plus if she's doing her job distracting the construction workers, then Toothless is never getting out of that van.

"Ok, you're right." He admits, "The 4 dogs are in block C, the third left off of the hallway through this door. They'll follow you. You know where Spike is." He hears a bulldozer start with a rumble. "I'm going to go get Toothless."

Astrid nods, and waits with her legs poised for Hiccup to unlock the door with his shiny brass key. He holds it open, and she props up on tip toes, giving him a bracing hug that's more for her benefit than his. "Be safe."

Then she's off, sprinting down the tepid concrete hallway, her shoes echoing like hail. Cement dust steams from the ceiling as something collides with the west wall of the shelter with a sickening crunch. Astrid grits her teeth, ignoring the tremors in the ground as she flings herself down the hallway.

She grabs onto the doorframe, and swings herself around the corner, veering down the left hand hallway, artfully preserving momentum. She nearly slams into the kennel gate, stopping with a dramatic skid of her shoes across the dusty floor. The dogs inside are quivering, the whites of their eyes showing as they cower together in a corner, and she fumbles with the gate, tugging at the stiff lock. She recognizes the dog from the homecoming game, licking another dog's trembling ear with an anxious expression.

"Come on, guys," she does her best to chirp through the fear as another blow hits the building. "We're gonna get out of here." She coaxes, patting her leg and trotting backwards, but they don't budge, too scared to get up. "We've seriously got to go, come on!" The fear betrays her voice as a visceral crack spreads through the wall.

In the near darkness, she fumbles for a leash and miraculously finds something better, a crinkly half full bag of treats. She shakes it at the dogs.

It would be comical how quickly they spring to their feet and follow her, if it weren't for her terrified relief. She sprints back out, the jingling of collars behind her almost comfortable in the dusty din. She grunts and throws her shoulder against the heavy back door, bursting into the sunlight.

Her four companions stare eagerly at the treats in her hand, and she takes a handful, throwing them as far as she can. The dogs make chase and she closes the door, running back into the death trap. Not too much further, she tells herself, squinting into the dark as her terrified mind reels.

She really wishes that Hiccup would do something about the bulldozer, which is hitting the wall with more and more frequency. Halfway to Spike's kennel, she stops to hack, gritty gray spit falling onto the dusty floor, and staining it black.

The taste of blood washes forward from the back of her throat, and it alarms her and pushes her faster. She flings herself around corners and down a flight of stairs, her knee aching from the impact. There is light now, trickling in through what must be the widening hole in the wall.

Spike's kennel sits in a still dark corner, while cracks spider up the walls, creaking and groaning in ways she's never heard before. The dog is hunkered down in the dark, on her ratty bed, whimpering and whining at the noise.

"You're ok, girl." Astrid grabs a leash off of the wall and opens the gate, forcing her voice steady. "We're going to get out of here, ok?" Spike rolls in surrender, showing her belly to Astrid and shaking harder, her eyes white with terror. "No, honey, no belly right now." She lays a firm hand on the dog's neck and clips the leash to her collar, tugging gently. "You have to run now, sweetie."

A chunk of concrete the size of her fist falls out of the ceiling two feet to her right and she wraps her arm around Spike's shoulders, putting her on her feet with a grunt.

"We have to run now girl, ok?" The terrified dog hides behind Astrid's legs as she skirts the cracked portion of the ceiling.

As soon as they reach the gateway to Spike's pen, the dog hunkers back and growls, stomach low to the ground.

"Come on, girl." She's starting to panic, the dust irritating her eyes as the fear leaks through her voice in droves.

"You're not going anywhere." The cruel voice penetrates her skin and she follows Spike's eyes, to the man throwing off his tweed coat and cracking his thick knuckles. His arms flex like boa constrictors and Astrid grits her teeth.

Her lip pulls back in a grinning snarl, as fear transforms flight into belligerence.

"Better get fleeing jack-ass." She threatens boldly as a cement watermelon plummets from the ceiling.

"That dog you just let go," he ignores her threat, stepping closer. She knows the dog he means, the one he sold, the one Hiccup proves to be gentle. "That dog cost me a lot of business."

"Business is over if you're dead." Astrid refuses to back away, stepping forward and shouting in his face. The bulldozer hits again, and the ceiling of the next room over collapses, flooding the room with muted light.

A ham-hock hand grabs her by the throat, lifting her off of the ground, and she snarls, kicking out as hard as she can. Her foot makes contact with his side, but it's like kicking a boulder, he doesn't register the pain, or budge an inch. His hand tightens around her throat and Astrid latches on with her fingers, trying to pry it loose as her vision goes spotty around the edges.

"You can't sell the best dogs in the state when some punk makes your stock act like a puppy." Astrid gasps, kicking him again and again and again. Spike lunges, and the man savagely kicks her away, sending her sprawling against the wall with a sickening 'oof.' She springs to her feet, circling and growling, waiting for another chance to attack. "And the dog was going to die, and I could live with that," Astrid chokes, digging her fingernails into his palm. She tries to kick, but her legs are so heavy. "It's a shame about you though, I really did like your spunk." He leers at her, gold fillings glinting in the gray light. "Not to mention that pretty face."

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**Not much to say…other than I promise, the next bit will be up soon. **

**Also, you guys are gluttons for punishment! Y'all are more for almost fluff than actual fluff. I got more reviews for torturing the poor characters than letting them be happy. **

**No complains, I'm eternally grateful for the ridiculous number of reviews that I am lucky enough to get, I just thought that the trend was funny. **

**Now, tell me what you guys think of this first half of the action…it's hard stuff to write, and nothing will get the next bit out faster than a little encouragement!**

**Thanks!**


	30. Chapter 30

**And the conclusion of the action…**

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Hiccup sneaks around the building, ducked down and running quietly. He hears the bulldozer make crunching contact and flinches, he has to stop it, but at the same time he's glad that Astrid's inside. At least she has a chance to save everyone, and not piss off a cop like he's about to.

He's going to end up in jail.

The black and white van sticks around the corner, with an apathetic officer leaning against the drivers' side of the hood. He hopes the back is unlocked as he charges forward, ducking around the passenger side and pausing at the rear bumper to use his inhaler. It doesn't provide as much relief as last time, but he can't afford to slow down.

The dozer crashes into the building again, and Hiccup takes a deep breath before pushing on, trying the back door. It opens and relief floods him until he sees the heavy padlock on Toothless' kennel.

"Shh!" He urges the wolf, who's trembling from fear and happiness of seeing Hiccup. Even though he knows that the attempt is futile, he grabs the lock, jerking hard enough that his teeth click angrily together. It doesn't budge, only jingles frightfully, and he pauses. He's got to get the keys, no choice. Hiccup drops to his hands and knees, crawling along the driver's side of the van, creeping up on the bored officer, who's currently captivated with an argument between Hiccup's father and the construction foreman.

For the first time in Hiccup's life, he relishes in his father's yelling, wishing him bigger and louder. As he's crouching onto his haunches, a tan and black blur dashes across his vision. He curses under his breath when he recognizes it as a four dog pack, charging across the lawn with their tails between their legs. What are they doing over here? They're just going to get recaptured.

He curses under his breath when Astrid and Spike don't follow victorious.

The working men jump back in fear, under the unexpected onslaught of 'dangerous' dogs, backing up against a truck and standing in a row like scared little girls. But the dogs are just as scared as the men, charging for the same cover as the duck between legs and curl up under the truck, trembling in the shade.

Everyone who'd been expecting blood, including Hiccup's father freeze and gape at the hiding dogs. A Rottweiler with a scar across her face nervously licks a man's ankle and everyone stares in disbelief. Gerard Haddock blanches, as a man who's always been smart, he knows when he's misjudged something.

Hiccup uses their distraction to ease open the van door and reach inside for a key ring, his hand fumbling in a cup-holder, close to victory before he slips and the keys jingle to the ground.

The cop whirls around faster than Hiccup can pull his arm from the door. The older man smartly yanks his arms behind his back, wrenching them together. The boy shouts and squirms, tugging at his wrists and flailing forward, fighting as hard as he can, and wishing he had half of Astrid's ferocity.

His father looks over at the ruckus, his face strange and silent as he approaches, inherently in control.

"Let him go." He orders, with such authority that the cop listens, even though the order holds no water. Hiccup stumbles forward, rubbing his wrists and glaring at the officer, letting himself feel entitled for a short moment. "Let the wolf out." Gerard continues, Hiccups face falling into a mask of shock.

"Dad, I—"

"I'm sorry, Henry," he admits, his voice stoic as he looks at the dogs by the truck, who are now being petted by laughing construction workers. "I was…wrong." He kicks himself, having led a campaign against imaginary monsters. Toothless walks up beside Hiccup, looking at the man curiously, sensing the evaporation of bad will.

"I—yeah, you were," Hiccup agrees, blatantly honest and absentminded, expecting Astrid to come around the corner at any moment. Every second she doesn't appear, a nasty feeling brews in his stomach. "I've got to go." He jogs towards the leaning front entrance of the building.

"You can't go in there!" Gerard orders, and Hiccup looks back.

"Astrid let those dogs out, she should be back by now." The gravity of the situation sinks into the older man's features and he blanches.

"I'll make them stop," Hiccup can't help but think it's a little late for that as a stressed wall of the building crumbles entirely. Toothless is beside him as he runs inside, stepping over debris and coughing in the dusty air.

The overwhelming fog of claustrophobia encroaches on his brain, and he brushes it off. The ceiling _is_ falling, no reason to dwell on it now that his fear has become rational.

Everyone ignores the screaming of the construction foreman, who gives up chase 10 feet from the doorway, too nervous to go inside.

Hiccup's fearing the worst and hoping for the best as he winds down splintering halls towards Spike's kennel, not knowing where else to look at this point. After a moment, Toothless growls and slinks forward, graceful and terrifying, even with his paralyzed leg. Hiccup follows obediently, peeking into the darkness and doing his best not to make monsters out of every shadow.

Somewhere nearby, a ceiling falls as the bulldozer's grumble cuts out.

He barely has time to be relieved at his father's destruction halting success before he hears the noise.

It's an awful gasping, sputtering, choking sound, laid over by frantic growling. The familiar dreaded voice trickles through the dense air, and the hairs on the back of Hiccup's neck stand on end, as Toothless' growls escalate.

"…like your spunk. Not to mention that pretty face." That does it, and Hiccup runs into the room, unsure but determined.

The scene makes him sick, Astrid's eerily twitching feet hovering a foot off of the floor as her blue face contorts between grimaces. Spike circles nervously, bleeding from a cut on her shoulder, obviously wary of attacking again but desperate to help.

"Put her down." Hiccup surprises himself with the gravelly timber of the tone coming out of his mouth. The man unceremoniously drops Astrid, who crumbles to the floor, hacking and sputtering, before he turns, snarling.

"You little shit." He lunges forward, ignoring Toothless' growls, and instantly sealing his last mistake as the wolf leaps, white teeth clamping on the man's throat and tearing viciously. Spike joins in, shredding his leg, and Hiccup looks away, gagging slightly. He focuses on Astrid kneeling down beside her. He's never been so happy to see her livid, purple face, and hear her raggedly intense breathing.

He helps her to her knees and her fists ball, her chest heaving.

"…kill…that…guy," She threatens in a whisper, which appears to be all she can manage. Hiccup looks over her shoulder at expanding pool of blood and shakes his head.

"We've got to go." Fifty pounds of concrete hails from the ceiling in the corner punctuating his statement as he pulls Astrid to her unsteady feet. "Can you walk?" She nods, "Good, we need to run."

The building is falling around them as they make their way to the mostly intact hallway, Astrid gaining strength until she's jogging ahead of Hiccup, dragging him by a clammy hand towards the light. Spike runs ahead, looking back nervously as Toothless stays with his asthmatic master, the dusty smog not providing nearly enough air.

Concrete dust lubricates their grip and Astrid loses Hiccup's hand, stumbling ahead at the loss of resistance. A wall tumbles towards her and she jumps, the building groaning with its last bit of strength.

"Go!" Hiccup coughs, waving her forward and she runs ahead, his feet stumbling behind her comforting as she makes out the trapezoidal door through the smog.

The ceiling is shaking in earnest now, and instinct takes over, abused lungs suffering as her legs fight her mind, carrying her away from Hiccup as she races Spike towards the door.

She doesn't hear the orange sized piece of concrete fall on his head. She doesn't hear him hit the floor as she bursts into the light.

Toothless whimpers desperately at his fallen master, grabbing the neck of his tee-shirt between bloody teeth and hopping backwards, dragging his boy towards the door.

Astrid turns around, looking for Hiccup, but he's not with her and she looks down the hallway, seeing Toothless dragging _something._ She lurches back towards the tunnel, but somebody grabs her, holding her back. She flings her elbow back as hard as she can, but they hold strong until she stomps on their foot, flailing forward.

Before she can get inside, the building is gone with a deafening crunch, a pile of dusty ruble in its place.

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Astrid crumples to the ground, a wave of despair washing over her as she hugs Spike tightly, tears silently washing the grit down her face in tiny gray rivers.

"Henry?" Hiccup's father calls from behind her, stumbling forward on his now tender foot, pushing into the rubble in his expensive gray suit. "Henry!?"

Astrid rocks slowly, her dog in her lap, playing it over and over in her mind like a terrifying broken record.

The ceiling fell.

The ceiling fell and Hiccup didn't get out.

Her fault. It's all her fault for running.

"Henry!" The cries get more anguished as Gerard climbs through the piles of concrete. If only he'd listened, he could have helped. He should have known something was up when he saw the demolition occurring a day early.

He should have cared, he shouldn't have assumed monsters when he saw mysteries.

A hunched black form, filthy with gray powder blurs into being through the thick dingy haze. A slew of bloody patches gleam in Toothless' thick black fur, as he heaves, broken and bruised with his back twisted into a sickening position.

Hiccup's father runs over, hope fading at the sad state of the wolf. He looks like a rag doll dropped on the ground, the way he's laying with his spine arched to the extreme. So unnaturally lumpy…

He sees a bruised hand sticking out from under the wolf's flank.

Toothless' bleary eyes blink open at the sound of the big man's ungainly stumbling and he rolls painfully to the side, exposing a pale face and skinny chest. Gerard kneels beside his son, ignorant to his own sobbing as he presses his face to the boy's heart, face blanching at the initial silence.

Lub-dub…Lub-dub.

"He's alive!" The man shouts through his panic, and Astrid snaps out of her trance, a smile cracking her stony face like a chisel in marble. Alive? How?

The cop relays the news to the station, and Astrid overhears the word 'ambulance,' her heart thumping painfully against her abused lungs.

She pushes herself to her feet and stumbles back into that horrible rubble, climbing to Hiccup and his father, ignoring the bitter dragging of her scraped skin on the rough ground. It feels like she's floating as she kneels beside Toothless' prone form, stroking his head gently. She applies tentative pressure to a nasty looking wound on the dog's shoulder, and he whines.

"Is—" Astrid recognizes something of her own unbelievable terror in the man's face as she predicts his question.

"The ambulance is on its way," she affirms, focused on Toothless' oozing wounds. If she looks at Hiccup's pale face she'll fall apart.

"You need to get checked out," he advises, voice gaining volume as the echo of a siren floats over the hills. Astrid's eyes lock onto Hiccup's shallowly moving chest without her permission, as she applies more pressure to the wolf's shoulder.

"I'm fine." She insists, voice too rough in her throat. "He needs to see a vet," she strokes the dogs fur, squelching panic at the blood on her hand. "Hiccup...Henry will hang me if I don't try." She corrects herself in a quiet voice, rocking desperately on her knees, beside herself with worry.

"You knew?" Astrid nods, shifting to look at him.

"He couldn't tell you," she worries over a tear in the wolf's soft ear, cooing to him a quiet voice.

"He was right." About not telling him. About the dogs.

About everything. 

"Tell him that," she insists, voice unfamiliarly raspy in the too still air.

They're quiet until EMTs swarm through the rubble, climbing through with a stretcher, and urging them to move aside with confident official voices. Gerard steps away, but Astrid stays close, hunching over Toothless and glaring when they startle over the wolf's still form. They get to work, horribly efficient as they stabilize and pry, using the Jaws of Life to free Hiccup's leg, shifting huge concrete blocks with gritty groans.

"We need the animal out of here," they urge, calm and efficient, and Astrid slides shaking hands under Toothless, struggling against his weight until Gerard scoops him up, cradling the animal as though he weighed nothing.

"You're right," the wolf looks at the man with confused but oddly trusting eyes, and Astrid sees a glimmer of the solidity that she's come to value in Hiccup. "He needs the vet, I'll do what's necessary." As much as she wants to follow the slowly ascending stretcher to the ambulance, Astrid swallows her nearly childish desire.

"I'll take him to the vet, I need to take my dog as well." Spike has appeared, nervously pacing behind them, limping on her front leg. My dog. Even now the words feel warm in her chest, like home.

"You need to go to the hospital," his eyes follow to her throat, and the blue black bruise blooming under the swelling skin. It's been years since a father figure instilled any sort of confidence or assurance in her, and she can't help but settle, allowing herself to align behind the man's guiding beacon.

"I'm fine." She insists, pain leaking through the fading adrenaline as they retreat with Hiccup's stretcher, the moment of decision looming.

"I'll be along later," he warns, looking nervously at the limp wolf in his arms. "What's the beast's name?"

"Toothless…and Spike," she watches tenderly as the man calls _her _dog, and the pit follows nervously towards the car on the other side of the shelter. "I'll take care of him," Astrid mumbles mostly to herself, suddenly limping on her exhausted knee as she retreats towards the ambulance, catching up with the EMTs. One of them sits her down in the back next to the recently installed stretcher, touching her neck with analytical fingers.

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"I don't need an x-ray," Astrid insists, glaring out of her still gritty face at the technician. The man doesn't have the decency to look scared, and she wills her voice louder, repeating, "I don't _need_ an x—" Her voice dissolves into coughs, and her hand comes away bloody. It's a newly horrible development, and the nurses crowd back around, tilting her head back and aiming bright lights at the back of her abysmally sore throat.

"Massive abrasions…I need a swab?" One insists, before prodding her with cotton and narrowing his eyes at the bloody cotton swab, analyzing the gritty crimson crud. "Concrete dust," he affirms, and suddenly all the nurses are pressing her into the hospital bed. "CT, pneumonia risk," he brands her, and she has to physically restrain herself from biting them.

"I don't want a CAT scan," they don't listen, they never listen. She's being wheeled down the hallway, fingers bracing her shoulders against the mattress. They shove her into a shiny white room, pushing her into a tunnel shaped machine and tell her to hold still.

Hold still.

Hold still?

How is she supposed to hold still when she can feel her life falling apart? She imagines she can feel the thrumming machine looking inside of her body, compiling evidence. Rib fractures, ulnar deterioration from defensive blows. Cranial damage.

Stress fractures, joint bruising. She wonders if they can see the real damage, wonders if the theft of innocence left any marks. Like she's ever been innocent.

She hasn't seen Hiccup since she got to the hospital. They rushed him back, pale face and beeping machines a blur in her addled memory. He'd been stable, but unresponsive in the ambulance.

Unresponsive.

She wonders what that means. Could it mean sleep? Or some other wonderfully temporary state of being? It sounds scarier than that, more permanent.

His leg was definitely broken, she remembers how small and _wrong_ it looked when they cleared the cement away. But his _head_, she's never seen anyone knocked out cold before. For his face to look so sickeningly peaceful while EMTs struggled all around him, some frighteningly crucial switch must have been flicked off.

It's forty five minutes before she's back in her generic hospital room, staring into the unusually solemn face of a chubby middle aged doctor.

"I need to see Hic—Henry Haddock." She rasps, no room left for nonsense in her brain.

"Astrid—" He looks at her like a kicked puppy, and she can't help the way that her lip curls. "We aren't entirely sure of the results of your CT scan."

"How's my neck?"

"Surprisingly, it's doing ok, your hyoid is bruised, and we'll give you something for the inflammation. The abrasions on the back of your throat will need to be rinsed with a saline solution three times a day, and you should use a humidifier at night." The instructions end without finality, and she continues to stare the doctor down, waiting for the axe to drop. "We'll want to take a second look at your lungs in a week."

"Then why do you look so worried?" The decent part of her soul feels bad, making the probably kind hearted doctor so deeply uncomfortable, but her fundamental rush to see Hiccup urges her forward.

"We found some alarming results, including 3 improperly healed rib fractures and a sizable amount of bruising at the base of the vaginal canal." She grimaces at the clinical terminology, Hiccup's white face a weight on her mind.

"I play sports." The cardinal excuse feels hollow to her own ears. She'd always hoped that she'd never end up here, body betraying her to some kindly doctor who _only _wants what's best. Who only looks at the surface, refusing to realize the implications of his _helpful_ actions.

"The bulk of the injuries are more indicative of domestic violence…we have a social worker for you to talk to." She needs to go see Hiccup, this is insane.

"I don't want to talk to a social worker."

"It's protocol—"

"I don't care about protocol!" She snaps, the volume making her cough. She swallows the bit of blood that welled up in her throat, grimacing at its unwelcome coppery tang. "Can you just tell me what's going on with Henry Haddock?"

"I believe he's still in the operating room," the doctor answers with a quick glance at his clipboard. At least someone told him that she'd be asking.

"I need to be there when he gets out," she can't help the begging tone that slips into her voice, but the general painful rasp seems to cover most of it.

"Astrid, I don't think that you understand how serious this is. You've been through a lot of _trauma_ today—"

"I do get how serious this is. You're going to make me talk to some social worker, and they're going to talk to some judge, and you're going to take me away." The doctor looks at her curiously, he's never seen a girl out of an abused home so truly confident. Something doesn't add up. The ghosts of neglect are evident in her stubborn face, but fading, like something has already _changed_. He sees kids every day, with broken arms, black eyes, but none of them have ever looked quite like this.

"We just need you to talk to the social worker, Astrid. Just talk," she turns her nose up at him, fuming, but elegantly contained as she crosses her arms. Normally, the violent ones slug him by this point in the conversation, and he can't place her restraint.

"I don't need to talk to a social worker," she repeats, "I play sports, I'm an athlete." Her eyes widen briefly, uncouth emotions pouring through before she smiles sarcastically at him. "And as for the _bruising_, I'm seventeen, do you really think I'm a virgin?"

Again, he's heard the bold claims, the messed up kids pushing at his buttons, trying to get a rise out of him. This is far more calculated, almost honest in her delivery. He wonders if she's telling the truth, and the moment of doubt in his mind is enough. For now.

"We can push the meeting until next week, when you come back for a second CT on your lungs," she doesn't look thrilled, again throwing him off of the scent. To most of these kids, a day is eternity, and a meeting in a week is an unsubstantiated empty threat.

"Can I go visit Henry now?" His real name still sounds strange on her tongue.

"He's still in the operating room." The doctor repeats, looking up at the clock. Something desperate in her face attempts to claw its way to the surface before she shuts it down, looking at him stonily. "I know which room he'll be taken to. I suppose you can wait there." He turns, typing something into the computer resting on the counter next to the box of powdered gloves before standing.

She follows him down hallways smelling of disinfectant and sickness, two right turns and a left until she sees Gerard ahead, tapping his left foot in a way so familiar that her heart aches. The doctor says something that she can't be bothered to hear, brushing him off with a subtle wave and limping forward, silently lowering herself into the seat beside Hiccup's father.

"Have you heard anything?" She asks quietly after a moment of insufferable silence. Silence could be good, right? Silence could be quiet joy.

"Not about Henry," he grumbles, eyes red, and Astrid realizes that he's been crying. What would the voters think? The callus thought floats through her discombobulated mind, and she curls up, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Toothless?" She asks, and the man cracks a sad smile.

"The wolf is going to be fine, the vet charged me double for _insurance _reasons," Gerard laughs bitterly, "they are going to have to amputate his front leg." Astrid can't help but laugh at that, the sound painfully raspy.

"Not like he was using it much."

"What?"

"It was paralyzed…Hiccu—Henry could probably explain it better than me, I just know that he couldn't use it." Gerard looks relieved, obviously he wasn't looking forward to telling Hiccup.

Then again, your best friend losing a leg isn't an easy thing to get used to.

"You're Astrid Hofferson, right?" The question takes her aback, and she sighs, realizing that proper introductions have yet to take place. She holds out her hand and he shakes it, eyes far away.

"Yes, sir."

"The one who's always in the papers?" The newspaper has no place in her mind and she looks at him strangely before making sense of the words.

"What? Oh. Yeah," she's distracted by everything, the plain blank wall hideously interesting in her eyes.

"I saw you won the state meet, good race," Gerard reaches for a distraction, anything to keep him from checking his watch another fifteen times this minute.

"Thanks," she mumbles. So much has happened since then, she feels like she's gone on a ride through a blender and been spit out the top.

"I also heard that you broke Henry's wrist." She's silent at the almost accusation, letting it settle like salt in a wound. She imagines that she's talking to Hiccup, which really isn't too hard, staring at his nose in the middle of his father's face.

"I'm having a hell of a year…" She starts, before trailing off. That isn't the right way to phrase this, it is _her _fault that she broke his wrist, she's done shoving the blame off on everyone else. "He called me out on…some stuff, and I overreacted." She admits, and Gerard nods, sighing loudly.

"If there's one thing that boy is good at, it's making me overreact." His last unhurried words to his son attack his thoughts like machine gun fire, _'you're not my son_.'

"How he says things with just enough sarcasm to make you feel like an absolute idiot?" She asks, and the boy's father laughs, leaning forward and cradling his head in his hands. His grubby suit couldn't look more out of place in the antiseptic hallway.

"No one is annoying like him." She nods, and Gerard continues, a feeling of kinship growing in his chest. "He pokes in just the wrong place…and then you're left sitting there regretting what you said."

"And he can't just be _normal_ for two seconds of the day. He always has to be so…Hiccup." She feels a sob welling in her throat and shoves it back, resting her head against the wall and staring up at pockmarked ceiling tiles.

"I keep telling him that nickname isn't manly."

"Since when is Hiccup manly?" She asks, anguish sneaking through the cracks of her voice and earning her a curious look from the man next to her. "He's going to be ok, right?"

"I hope so." He honestly can't tell whether he's proud of his son for making such a beautiful girl care so much, or disgusted with himself for his shock.

They sit in silence for what feels like hours as the minute hand inches around the hallway clock unbelievably slowly. The pain starts to settle into Astrid's too tired body, neck tightening into a blue and black swollen collar as her legs cramp. She hugs her knees more tightly, rocking slowly and staring at the lines on the floor, ignoring concerned stares of nurses as they stride past.

It feels like years since she settled into her uncomfortable seat when the light in the room in front of them flicks on, gurney entering through a back door on squeaky wheels. Her heart stops beating, white knuckled hands gripping her armrest as she waits, unbearable dread filling her chest like glue. She can't breathe.

Machines click to life inside, a steady dampened beeping pulsing through the door like an aural life force. Another machine whirs, purposeful feet pace around, clicking and creaking bringing their little patch of hallway to life. Astrid's fingernails draw blood, digging into her own palm.

The door opens and a surgeon steps outside, dragging the mask off of his face and letting it hang around his neck. He beckons Gerard over, and Astrid doesn't think to follow, frozen to her seat in disbelief. The day floods back to her in a tsunami, and it's hard to breathe.

She catches snippets of calmly spoken words, 'crushed' and 'damaged tissue' occur a lot, making her cringe. 'Massive internal bleeding' makes her heart sink, and she watches Hiccup's father's face grow paler and paler under the unflattering fluorescent lighting. The door to the room opens, and she jumps to her feet, striding over until the doctor stops her with a hand on her shoulder. She looks up at him questioningly, and his mouth is moving, but it takes a second for the words to wend their way into her brain.

"Relation?" He asks calmly. She wants to hit him for being so calm.

"Huh?"

"What's your relation to the patient? Only next of kin in the ICU." It's really _that_ bad? She glances at the sign hanging above the end of the hallway, making out the three horrible letters before looking back at the doctor and collecting herself. Placing a front over her bursting emotions is familiar, comforting even, and her posture corrects itself.

"Sister," the man looks her up and down, obviously finding no similarity to the people already in the hospital room, and she corrects herself. "Half-sister." That seems to be enough to pacify him and he lets her go.

It can't be too bad, right? She remembers how warm and alive he felt when she hugged him before running inside. That can't all disappear in a few random moments. It just can't.

She clings to desperate hope as she crosses the threshold, door swinging shut behind her and pushing a gust of air up against her heels.

The first thing that she notices is how _pale_ Hiccup is, and how much the bruises on his forehead upset her. Second, she notices the grubby handprints that Gerard left on the snow white blanket pulled over Hiccup's too skinny chest.

The third thing is the thick padding and vast blanketed space where Hiccup's left foot should be.

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**So…not really much to say here, besides these characters are horribly alive, and they won't stop stretching this story far longer than it was meant to be. **

**Please oh please oh please review, you guys don't know how hard these last chapters are for me to write, I'm struggling here. I'm lucky that I wrote most of this at an earlier date, but I've got a lot to sum up in not so much time, and I really rely on your encouragements! **

**Thank you for reading, and please tell me what you thought! **


	31. Chapter 31

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Astrid paces, eyes locked on Hiccup's heart rate monitor, flicking occasionally to his feet. _Foot_.

Hiccup only has one foot.

She gulps, doubling the rate of her footfalls, matching herself to the regular beeping of the machines. Her tennis shoes collide with the tile with dull thuds like the nearly lifeless heartbeats in her own chest. She can see the sun cresting the Western horizon through the generic window, and she bizarrely remembers that she hasn't eaten all day. Everything that used to seem pressing is gone from her mind, replaced by gaping chasms filling with churning, unfortunate thoughts.

"Will you sit down?" Gerard snaps after a few moments of her nearly frenetic pacing, and she glares at him, plopping down in a chair by the foot of Hiccup's bed. Foot.

Foot.

She hugs her knees to her chest, pacing replaced by carefully timed rocking, her neck throbbing viciously on every four count.

Tests. The doctors are running more tests. The last medical professional left the room an hour ago, after injecting something into one of the many tubes linked to the needles in Hiccup's pale arm. He hardly looks like a person, waxy skin, his face sunken in utter lack of expression.

What she wouldn't give to see a smirk. Just a little smirk.

She has to look away after a moment, the purple bruising on his hairline around a graphically stitched cut too much. She counts the stitches in a cut on his arm, trying to keep from pulling her hair out.

Four stitches. Four little loops of black thread in his skin.

"Well, they're taking their sweet time," Astrid grumbles, fidgeting nearly violently in her seat and flinching when her knee bumps the armrest of the chair.

"Patience," he urges her, and she almost screams. This is insane. Hiccup only has one foot, and their _tests_ are taking hours.

"I just…I've never seen him so still." His father smiles sadly.

"Always tinkering with something," she nods at the truth of his words, the vice grips around her heart loosening with the departure of that unholy silence.

"It's like he doesn't realize you can hear him if his arms aren't flailing around." Gerard laughs, too quiet, and her eyes drift back to Hiccup's face without her permission. High bruised forehead, too long nose. He looks younger somehow, jaw soft and slack beneath unhealthily pale skin.

The vibrating of a cell phone breaks the silence and Astrid pats her pockets, before realizing she left her cell in Hiccup's car. She wonders where it is now, but can't really bring herself to care as she not so secretively eavesdrops on the first few words of Gerard's conversation.

"Found what? …Who?" He stands up, stepping into the hallway before she can glean the gist of the discussion. She stands, considering following before her eyes fall back to Hiccup's too still form.

She's never really seen an unconscious person before, and it's more different than sleep than she would have expected. Heavier. She steps forward, fiddling with the sheets at the edge of his bed before gaining courage and resting her fingers on his forearm, stroking the hard skin lightly. He's still warm, obviously, pulse throbbing under her fingertips, but there's something disconcerting about it all.

He should have felt it when they uncovered him. But he didn't. She carefully laces her fingers through his, scared to squeeze and dislodge any of the tubes of his IV. The normal tingle in her skin is muted, like she's touching a clone.

Almost Hiccup, but not quite.

If this were a movie, she'd probably have some speech, about how she _loves _him and needs him to wake up. She'd say all sorts of brilliant and insightful things to his gracefully prone form and he'd wake up and kiss her.

But he doesn't look graceful, he's skinny and broken and bruised. And she doesn't have anything to say, her throat miserably raw and barren. She stares at his too pale hand in hers and remembers when it was flushed and clammy, resting on her side after she kissed him. She remembers it holding her up when he _rescued_ her before she even admitted she needed rescuing. She remembers it holding a pencil, scrawling across long lines of calculus, when she could barely fathom them being friends.

She does need him to wake up, but her tongue is as frozen as he is.

Pinching the tip of his index finger in goodbye, she steps backwards, dizzy in the too quiet room, and sits on her chair, curling back into a ball and resuming that infernal rocking. To and Fro as her breath floats in and out of her mouth like the tide.

If she stops counting, the world might stop too.

Gerard pushes back into the room a minute later, a gust of tepid hallway air washing through the too cold room and making her shiver. She looks up at the man expectantly and he sighs, sitting back down and staring at Hiccup in the same haunted way that she must be.

"What's-" She asks, voice nearly completely dissolved into a croak. She clears her throat, trying again, "What's going on?" He glances at her, huge hands shaking slightly.

"They found—At the shelter…" He sighs rubbing his eyes, "It's confidential."

"Hey, I was there," she snaps, for a second terrified that she's going to wake Hiccup, before she realizes that would be wonderful.

"Astrid, it's an open police investigation." He says gently, feeling as unhinged as the girl looks.

"Right, it's not like they're going to want me as a witness or anything," she snarls back, cold and small underneath her tough exterior.

"I—" He sighs, looking ten years older than when she saw him in the van that morning. "For your ears only." He points at her sternly and she nods, immediately regretting the motion when her neck sings in pain. "They found a body in the wreckage. It's a man who's a known suspect for dogfighting in Denver. Gobber identified what was left of him, and said he'd been hanging around." Gerard looks both ways, as though the walls are listening, before he resumes speaking. "The foreman identified him as the _owner_ of the shelter who'd offered the construction company three times their going rate if they demolished the shelter first thing Sunday morning." Astrid's mouth gapes wordlessly a few times, fury boiling ineffective in her stomach.

If he weren't already dead, she'd kill him.

"Yes, that's him, he's been around before threatening everyone," she swallows, grimacing at the tight pain in her throat, "he was inside…I know why…" she trails off, suddenly finding it hard to breathe as she's brought back to dark hallways and crumbling walls. Gerard glances at her bruised neck and nods in understanding. "How…do they know how he died?" She asks, slightly panicked as she imagines the cops identifying what tore out the man's throat.

"Crushed." He mumbles, not wanting to bore the girl with the fully…macerated description that the cops had given him.

"Oh."

"He was what kept you." The man summarizes, and she nods carefully.

"That's why Hiccup came back in, isn't it?" She doesn't wait for an answer, rushing forward with hyperventilating words. "He saved me, and now…"

They both stare at the elephant in the room, the leg six inches shorter than it should be under the blanket.

"I couldn't have stopped him if I'd tried."

"What a time to be a hero." Astrid comments, her voice going up in pitch as she holds back tears. "He couldn't just be a high school sports hero, or whatever, he had to go ahead and…and…he's an idiot." She finishes, beyond caring that she's giving away way too much. "It's my fault."

"It's not your fault," Gerard insists, and that fatherly confidence worms its way into her pores.

"When did they say they'd be done with the _tests_?" She asks, staring blankly at the IV stand, watching the steady drip.

"Fifteen minutes ago."

"Hospitals." She complains with a humorless laugh, and they fall back into silence.

It's less than ten minutes later when a doctor finally enters the room, shutting the door quietly behind him and looking at Hiccup's father. He curiously looks over at Astrid, but no one makes any moves to kick her out of the room and she leans in, waiting for the news.

"I have good news, and I have bad news." He starts, and her heart palpitates crazily in her chest as she stares at him, desperate for him to continue. "The good news is, there's no _evident_ brain damage, no cranial bleeding, and the hairline fractures in the skull are minimal." The doctor looks at the two of them, mulling over how he's going to phrase the next part. "Obviously, he's out. The problem is, we aren't sure why. It could be shock, or relevant to the head trauma, or sensitivity to the anesthetic from the surgery. We can't get a definitive answer, and with the recent recorded EEG activity, we're forced to call this is comatose state."

Comatose? Astrid gulps, feeling light headed as she grips the armrests of her chair too hard.

"How long…when will he wake up?" Gerard asks, and Astrid mentally thanks him.

"We can't know right now." The doctor sighs, "We have no reason to think that he won't wake up, but it could be anywhere from an hour from now to a week…maybe longer, but we hope not." A week? That's…she can't take him laying here for a week. The doctor is still talking, and she forces herself to listen, eyes bleary in her head, "…breathing on his own, which is always a good sign."

Good sign. Good news. There is nothing good about this situation. Hiccup might not wake up for a week?

She quiets the little voice that teases her, goading that it might be longer. She can't think like that.

The doctor leaves after checking Hiccup carefully, moving his floppy arms and adjusting his IV. Gerard sighs, and Astrid looks up at him, world painfully clear in a way that won't let her pretend to be dreaming.

"I should probably get you home," he offers and she shakes her head, sinking further into the chair.

"What if he wakes up?"

"I'm going to come back," he assures her, and Astrid can't help but recognize the same tone that Hiccup uses when he tries to calm her down. Uses…used, she dabbles with the past tense, and it makes her chest tighten to the point of pain. "But your dog is at my house with stitches in her shoulder, and you need to get some sleep."

"Oh, Spike!" She stands, glancing at Hiccup. Screw school, she'll be here first thing tomorrow.

"She's ok," he comforts her, leading the way out of the room and down a long white hallway. Astrid is not limping as badly now, at least, her knee bending almost normally with every trudging step. "Probably hungry by now though," he checks his watch as they leave the building into the mostly dark evening.

She almost laughs as the two of them climb into Hiccup's car, the fickle ridiculousness of riding around with Hiccup's father almost too much for her emotionally fraught state.

00000

Astrid creeps around the front of her house, tip toeing footsteps clumsy with exhaustion as she unlocks the front door, letting Spike ahead of her as they enter the dark house. A light clicks on upstairs and Astrid freezes, more level-headed than she's felt in weeks when her father appears drunk and stumbling at the top of the stairs.

He blinks twice at her, his eyes locked on Spike's boxy head.

Spike shuts her smiling, panting mouth, sliding up beside Astrid's leg warily.

Her father's eyes flick from her scraped up shins to her black collared neck, taking in the gray grit coating her from head to toe.

It seems to all be a little much for his drunk mind to take and he leans against the wall, a crumbling tower.

"The fuck happened to you?" He asks, and she stares assertively, waiting for the blow-up. Looking forward to it, really.

"You know, the usual," she grins in spite of herself, eyes wild. "Taking down crime rings with Congressman Haddock."

"You think that's funny?" He raises his voice, and Spike growls low in her throat. He takes a faltering step back.

"I think it's true." She answers, fist balling around Spike's leash as the dog hunkers down, growl wafting from her mouth like a chainsaw's song.

"What happened to your neck?" He asks, and the almost concern in his voice makes her sneer.

"Some asshole tried to strangle me," she gestures to the dog at her feet. "Spike here killed him, so I took her home." She can feel the frenetic bravado leaking out of her as her eyes dilate in the dark entryway.

"We both know that you can't keep a fucking dog in my house." He snaps, voice slurring loudly in the dim house. The pit growls louder, lips peeling back from sharp filed teeth.

"She doesn't like you."

"Get the dog out of my house, and get up here," he orders, and despite the chill washing down her spine, she laughs. Is this what insanity feels like?

"No, no I won't."

Bullies are cowards, really. Overgrown babies who can't take care of themselves, so they set out to irreparably damage others.

She never really stopped to wonder why her Mom wanted her dad in the first place, probably something to do with looks, the older man is handsome by all conventional standards. Maybe something to do with money.

Everything to do with fear.

At first strength seems like a wonderful thing, like a fence built to keep the world out, keep the inside safe. Then one morning, it's a trap, and looking around at the tiny life the world has become, there's no reason to stay. But by now, the fence is too strong, too tall, and the hope for escape dwindles as the world grows detached.

He scared her mother into sticking around, scared her with the promise of a happy life if she just _listened_. If she sat away in a corner and did what she was told. She used to think her mother was brave for leaving, but now she's not so sure.

She thinks of what the doctor said earlier. Massive bruising. Improperly healed fractures.

Spike growls, the furious sound clawing its way out of her throat like a lion's roar, teeth bared as she readies herself to pounce. The man is yelling at her girl, and she's never going to let a mean man touch her girl again.

"You will do what I say." He insists, and Spike snarls, frothy spit dripping onto the floor in a slow viscous stream.

"You know, _dad_, you gave up the parental right to tell me what to do." She snaps, stepping forward in absolute resistance to her urge to hide. "You haven't acted like a father in years. It's not my fault that mom left you, and it's even less my fault that she was an idiot and got in a car accident." She wishes she were louder, but the low gravelly shout is all that her abused throat can manage. "You've hit me, you've insulted me, you've belittled me, and you've…" It doesn't deserve to be said aloud and she snarls at him. "I'm done."

Spike growls, menacing as her master.

"I'm not alone anymore," Astrid continues, gesturing to Spike while the deepest corner of her mind dwells on Hiccup. "And if you touch either of us, you die."

The threat is simple and satisfying, and the house goes silent, save for the pitbull's continued rumble. Astrid grins, eyes wild in her filthy face as she laughs.

"Do you want to know how she killed the last guy who touched me wrong?" Her father looks at her, seeing himself more than he'd ever like to admit. He never thought he could actually _fear_ the girl who could act so pitiful.

Astrid catches herself, sees the genuine terror in her father's eyes and backs off, telling Spike to lie down with hushed commands. She stares up at the man who has terrorized her and manages a diplomatic smile.

Maybe she has a future as a politician.

"I am here because I have to be. I plan to see you as little as possible, and don't even try to catch me in this house without my _friend_ here," she nudges Spike, "because it won't happen." She turns to walk downstairs, oddly bereft of victory. The stairs above her squeak and her head jerks over, making her neck throb unevenly. She hides the pain in a steely glare, eyes narrow in her face.

"Astrid?" Her father asks and she sighs, turning to face him completely.

"What?"

"You're not like your mother…are you?" It's not really a question, and she doesn't really have an answer. She shrugs.

"No." She sighs, the day catching up to her in leaps and bounds as the danger fades, for now. "I've got too much asshole in me." Her accusatory glare cuts her father like a knife, as he feels the drunken bliss retreat from his system, replaced by cold reality.

She starts walking again, slumping down the stairs and ignoring the bitter-sweet sounds of her father's sobs behind her.

00000

It's amazing what a couple days will do in terms of adjustment, Astrid muses, setting her backpack on the floor as she walks into Hiccup's hospital room. She's sweaty after practice, Gobber has her strength training until her lungs are approved by a doctor on Friday, and the weights are definitely something that she's not used to.

"So, today Gobber got me on this new machine," she talks quietly to Hiccup's _sleeping_ form, pulling her chair to its cardinal spot by his right side and sitting down, "it was _horrible_, my calves are going to fall off."

She digs their most recent English book out of her bag and opens it to her bookmark, situating it in her right hand as her left sneaks onto the edge of the bed, grabbing his IV free hand in her own. The first few times she did this, it felt strange, desperate even, but eventually her need for comfort outweighed her fear of feeling creepy. She likes to imagine that he can feel her, that his fingers are curling in hers with something other than an innate reflex.

"I think you'd actually like this book, Hiccup," she tells him, showing him the front cover out of habit, "It's called A Separate Peace. It's one of the first books we've read this year not about forty year old dudes." She jokes, her thumb mindlessly stroking along his too stiff wrist, "Well, that and Catcher in the Rye…but we both know how you feel about that book."

Remembering his emphatic distaste for Holden Caulfield makes her physically hurt, like a knife is being twisted in her stomach. His face hasn't moved in days, frozen in its mask of youthful peace while she feels anything but serene.

Does he even know what it's like without him here?

"You know, you kind of left me with a lot to do," she mutters, the space between their palms the warmest point in the room, "I'm just glad that your dad is letting Spike stay at your house during the day. I think he's kind of glad for the company, I actually caught the two of them together on the couch the other day," she chuckles lightly, book forgotten for the moment. Even when he's dead to the world, Hiccup is still finding ways to distract her. "I don't think he knows what to think of Toothless though. I'm still walking him, like the vet said. He's doing well. He'll be off the painkillers in a couple of days."

"Then again, it's probably good that you're missing Toothless on drugs. I don't think you'd like it, he cries a lot." She squeezes his hand. "He misses you."

After three days of this, it's still heart-wrenching when he doesn't squeeze back.

"And come on, who do you think you are ditching me for this Mythology presentation?" She clears her throat, refusing the tears that try to make another appearance. Her cough is mostly gone now, and her lungs thankfully feel fine. "We were supposed to present today, but I got her to put it off. I don't know how I'm going to push it past next Tuesday though." She pointedly ignores his _foot_, squeezing his hand more tightly. "So you have to be there, or I'm going to kick your ass." She threatens, choking down another wad of tears.

A blob of water falls onto the book, and she laughs, wiping the page with careful fingers.

"How is it that even now, you're keeping my nose out of this book?" She asks, looking at his face with childlike hope as she waits for an answer.

Of course he says nothing.

"You're…you're a real piece of work." She shakes her head, turning back to her homework with a sigh.

She's been reading about a half an hour when the door creaks open, and a middle aged woman in pink scrubs putters in. Astrid yanks her hand back from Hiccup's, folding it awkwardly on her lap as she looks up, her book settling back onto her lap.

"How are you today, Janet?" Astrid asks, and the nurse smiles at her, fiddling with a machine and jotting down a few notes into a file.

"I'm doing alright," she yawns, "How about you?"

"Same old, same old." Astrid shrugs, stretching and scratching the back of her head. She watches the older woman adjust Hiccup's IV, both nauseated and fascinated by the needle taped under the soft skin of his wrist. "How is he doing?" Her voice is quieter than she'd like it to be, and she crosses her arms across her middle, the paperback cover rasping against the sleeve of her tee-shirt.

"No change," Janet informs, "but he has the most reliable visitor in the whole hospital." She sneaks a glance at the girl, who smiles weakly.

"Well…you—you always hear that talking to them helps…you know?" The nurse nods sympathetically.

"Your brother's lucky," Astrid furrows her eyebrows, frowning confused. "Fine, half-brother."

"Oh, right. My half-brother." She grins embarrassed to have forgotten her ruse, raising a tight fist and oh so gently knocking it against Hiccup's still arm.

Janet is having none of it.

"You don't have to stop holding hands when I come in, you know," she laughs, and Astrid blushes crimson.

"He's…he's just my brother…" she lies, shrugging in a mockery of indifference.

"Half-brother?" The nurse corrects.

"Whatever…Family."

"Right. And I'm your mother," Janet teases, gesturing to her dark skin as Astrid refuses eye contact. "You have a good evening, Astrid."

"You too, Janet," the girl waves with a sigh, "See you tomorrow."

"Alright," the door closes behind the woman and Astrid looks both ways before her arm sneaks back onto the bed and grabs Hiccup's now cool fingers. She shakes her head slowly as the heat finally fades from her face.

She's just starting to think about leaving when the door opens again, Hiccup's father stepping inside, his perennially anxious expression frozen on his face. Astrid slides her hand back to her lap, casually grabbing the book with two hands and shoving her bookmark into the binding, shutting it calmly.

"You don't have to stop holding hands when I come in," Gerard urges with a gentle nod and Astrid glares at him.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Everyone?" He asks, and she sighs, zipping her backpack and standing with a groan, muscles tight from her workout.

"Janet, the nurse," she answers begrudgingly. She doesn't know whether all politicians have some sort of spell that makes them easy to talk to, or if it's the fact that she can recognize so much of Hiccup in his father's face, but bonding between the two of them hasn't really been an issue.

Well, that and Astrid can't help but cling to a new pivot as her life truly falls apart.

"Did you talk to her about…?"

The coma.

Neither of them can say it, it falls flat on the end of their tongues, choking them with silent meaning.

"No change." He's no better and no worse. It's the most horrifying limbo that Astrid can imagine, floating between happy and irreparably devastated.

Gerard is quiet for a moment, and she slings her backpack over her shoulder, politely edging around his dominating form on the way to the door.

"Wait, Astrid?" She turns, looking at him curiously.

"What?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something," his voice is quiet and awkward, and so unbearably _Hiccup_ that her heart clenches.

"Uh, sure…" He gestures to the chair she was just sitting in, and she sets her backpack down, choosing to lean back against the hospital bed, fingers fiddling with the a seam in the sheets.

"I'm out of town a lot," he starts, and Astrid nods in agreement, "and I've got…some bills to recall, a lot of work to do in the next few months," he glances almost sheepishly at the ground, and she chooses to ignore it. "When he comes home, he's not going to be able to take care of himself."

Astrid ignores the concept of him being _crippled_ and clings to the _when_. Not if, when. He's going to come home, and that's all that matters.

"Yeah, but I'll be around," she asserts. It's a fact, something she figured as soon as she saw him in the hospital bed.

"That's what I wanted to ask." He jumps on her interjection, hands gesturing in a painfully familiar way that makes her look at the wall. "I was wondering if you would consider staying at the house while I'm gone." She can't help the grin that slowly splits her face as she struggles to keep her expression responsible. "You would be welcome to any of the guest rooms, and Spike could stay," she wonders briefly why he's trying to convince her, before exhaling sharply in realization. He doesn't think that she'd want to come, probably in the midst of harboring grief about peeling her away from her family to deal with Hiccup's medical care.

"Of course," she assures him, wondering if this development will be enough to mollify the social worker on Friday.

She hates promising when she doesn't know where she'll be a week from now.

"I'll pay you," he continues, looking grateful. "I just don't want to bring in some nurse—"

"He'd hate that," she agrees, and Gerard nods.

"And the wolf doesn't get on with me," he continues and Astrid restrains a smile, nodding respectfully.

"It's not a problem."

"I should talk to your parents about this," he offers, pulling a cell phone out of his pocket, and Astrid shakes her head.

"They won't mind."

"But if you're going to be—"

"I'll tell them." She lies, shrugging, "They seriously won't mind…they'll just be happy I found a job." He frowns at her, expression so classically fatherly that she falters between fear and trust.

"I'd still like to talk to them about it." She gulps.

"We'll figure it out," she shrugs too vigorously and her neck twinges. "I mean, it's not exactly happening tonight."

"No, it's not." It's impossible to keep from glancing at the horrible asymmetry at the foot of the bed.

00000

**Does Astrid/Stoick qualify as a bromance? Because it feels like a freaking bromance…**

**So, as you can tell, the absolutely fantastic review turnout was beyond inspiring, almost 5,000 words in 24 hours. Love you guys so much, keep me going, I want to do this ending justice. **

**Also, everyone who's mentioned a little lack of character development in Stoick's character, I agree…that being said, I don't think I can fix it without editing way way back…so I hope it's not too horrible or distracting! **

**So…tell me what you think of this chapter, I personally love the stuff I've got going on here…especially that wonderfully cathartic scene with Astrid's dad. **

**You guys are wonderful, and I hope you enjoy! **


	32. Chapter 32

**So...here's the next chapter...**

00000

Sometimes things just make sense, sometimes decisions are leapt into instead of thought about, and sometimes that's a good thing. Astrid's hand still tingles from signing with CU, being close to home feels like a necessity now that everything is different.

She sits on the unfamiliar hospital bed, breathing carefully and staring at the clock. She hates that awkward waiting period after the nurse leaves the room, usually with a chipper 'the doctor will be right with you,' and there's nothing to read but pamphlets and release forms on the counter. Looking around the room for what feels like the thousandth time, she scans across the walls, searching for anything worth looking at.

Her lungs _feel_ fine, and she really can't afford them not to be fine. She's got a meet in two weeks. She's got a college running career to worry about.

At least she can stop dreading college, today when she signed, she accepted a full scholarship, including room and board. If only she can _live_ until then.

Plus, she's got track in the spring to worry about, and the scholarship is dependent on her completing Berk High's rigorous academic curriculum. She chews on her lower lip, mulling over all the horrendous directions that her _meeting _with the social worker might go.

And then there's league to worry about. A course she's never run in a state she's never been to, racing the toughest field she's ever seen. That should sound like fun, she should be thrilled, not secretly hoping her lungs are unfit to breathe.

Honestly, she's never dreaded an event so much. She's torn between overwhelming excitement and shuddering worry. What if Hiccup wakes up while she's gone? What if he…_doesn't_ wake up?

What if he's home, and she's supposed to be taking care of him? She should make sure that his father is in town that weekend.

She hates this.

Just as she started to get used to the idea of leaning on someone, of letting someone carry a little bit of her burden, the world gets turned upside down. She checks her watch, she's supposed to meet with the social worker in half an hour.

Finally, when it feels like she's about to drive herself insane, the door opens and the loathed kind faced doctor from the week before enters the room, smiling at her.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, and as much as she _wants_ to, it just doesn't feel right to snap at him.

"Fine." He steps closer, taking the stethoscope from around his neck, gleaning that this visit won't be peppered with much small talk.

"Have you had any difficulties breathing?" He asks, pressing the cold speaker of his stethoscope against the girls' narrow muscled back, listening carefully to her lungs.

Astrid can't help but laugh dryly at the question. She has problems breathing every time she sees Hiccup's still face, or every time his father frowns. She can't breathe when she tries to fall asleep at night, paralyzed that when she wakes up, the world won't be whole anymore.

She can't breathe now, thinking about how her reality is on its way to being ripped apart. The idea of a social worker telling her what she can and cannot do with her life makes the air seem bereft of oxygen, useless to her lungs.

"No problems."

He moves around to her front, pressing the stethoscope to her chest, above the neck of her sports bra and listening intently. He must be able to hear her insane heart pounding in her chest as he listens to the other side, before stepping back and looking at her evenly.

"Your heart rate is a little high," he starts, and she sneers at him. "Can I just assume that you're nervous about your meeting today."

"Not nervous," she lies, shrugging before meeting his eyes. "More…bothered than anything."

"They're going to help you, Astrid."

"I don't need help." She insists, wondering briefly where the cracks on her ribs are. She'd really like to see the scan results honestly, know which blows had actually messed her up over the years.

"You're too close to the situation—"

"Look, I understand that this is _protocol_, or whatever, but I don't need the lecture to go along with it." She snaps, feeling picked on as she crosses her arms over her chest. The doctor sighs, wiping a hand across his forehead.

This kid really is different, if it's even possible, she's more self-assured than the last time he saw her, utterly confident on the table with her foot tapping irritably. He pulls a flashlight from his pocket and turns back to her.

"Open your mouth please," she obliges, saying 'aah' for long enough for him to examine the healing back of her throat. "Have you been doing the saline rinse?"

"Three times a day, like you said."

"Well, it's healing nicely," he informs her, and she stares at him expectantly, waiting for the important part of the diagnosis. "And your lungs sound fine. If you had inhaled too much cement dust, they would have showed symptoms by now, so it appears that you're in the clear."

"When can I start running?" She asks, suddenly eager.

"I don't see any _reason_ why you can't start now, but don't be surprised if your initial lung capacity is less than you remember." She can't help but breathe a sigh of relief, slouching in her seat.

"Finally," she mutters, pushing off of the table and checking the time. Five minutes until her date with destiny. "Where is this meeting?"

"Oh, the social worker is waiting outside, I'll send them in." It takes everything in Astrid not to roll her eyes as she steps to the side to peek out of the window beside the heavy wooden door. A gentle looking middle aged woman is sitting outside with a very thick stack of files. She sits in the chair in facing out of the small window, refusing to be seen as a _patient_.

"Thanks doc," she has to mentally thank Hiccup for that ever useful sarcastic tone as she ushers the doctor from the room, crossing her legs and waiting with baited breath. The woman pushes through the door before it eases shut, holding out her pink manicured hand.

"Hi, you must be Astrid, I'm Beth Pincher, I'll be assigned to your case." Astrid shakes her hand with a curt nod, determined to be a brick wall. The woman pulls the other chair to be seated across from her and situates herself, hands smoothing her gray skirt over her knees. "So…Let's see here…" She opens up an incredibly thin file, glancing down a piece of paper before looking back up at Astrid with a warm smile. "I heard that they found some nasty defensive wounds."

"They weren't so bad." Astrid answers, disconcerted by how _nice_ the woman seems. If she were awful, it would be easy to snarl her way through the interview, but she can't help but feel…the care.

"I don't know about that, you're file says—"

"Can we not do this?" The girl cuts her off, sighing. "I don't want to be here, I don't want to get shipped off somewhere. I'm seventeen…" She trails off as her throat fills with lead, suddenly the room is too small.

"It's not my job to ship you off, it's my job to remove you from harm's way."

"I signed for an athletic scholarship today," she laments, head in her hands as the world comes crashing down.

"Congratulations!" The woman says too loudly, checking her file. "You're a runner, right? What school?" She asks, like she has a genuine interest in what she's bound to destroy, and Astrid can't help but sneer.

"CU, full scholarship." The girl gripes, irritated by the social worker's grin.

"That's fantastic."

"Well, it's not like I'm going to get to use it," she snaps, glaring at the wall.

"Astrid—"

"I know why you're here, so can we just—Urg! The scholarship is graduation dependent," she explains, "And it's the only way I'm going to college."

It's strange to truly admit the corner that she's in, strange to visualize the walls springing up around her and holding her back. She feels like she's been freed from a trap only to be put on a leash, held close as a pet rather than a punching bag

The social worker looks at her levelly.

She can see what the doctor meant about this girl. She's got the same eyes as other kids she's seen, mostly other pretty young girls who don't deserve the parents their stuck with. But it's like she's already out, she doesn't check over her shoulder every five seconds. She maintains eye contact and demonstrates composure in average situations.

Her honesty is encouraging, and Beth pushes forward. The system does the best that it can, so many kids coming from so many different directions, so many different horrible places. In order to take care of all of them, some of them are swept under the rug. She can admit that sometimes the injustice is so glaringly obvious that fudging the paperwork doesn't seem morally reprehensible.

Seventeen, the girl is awfully _close_ to freedom.

"Are you admitting to domestic abuse within your home?"

"No—"

"Good, don't admit to it." She looks down at the file in her hands, skimming the vital information. "Your eighteenth birthday is March ninth, correct?"

"Yeah," it feels like eons away, but she can't say that she dislikes the slightly mischievous glint in the woman's eyes.

"Well…there's going to be a trial. You aren't fooling me well enough to fool a psychiatric evaluation." Astrid glares and the woman looks up at her before flicking her eyes back to the file, "But if your guardian were to sign over custody to a state registered foster parent, we could delay the trial until after your eighteenth birthday, at which point, you have the option to decline the trial entirely."

Astrid looks up, cocking her head thoughtfully. A foster parent, until March at least.

Then what?

Her mind drifts to her Haddock mansion offer as she chews on her lower lip, pieces of an age old puzzle almost clicking together in her mind.

She looks through the window, wondering what she can possibly say to swing this in her favor at this point, and unexpectedly catches Gerard Haddock's eyes as he walks down the hallway in his impressive black suit. The large man stops, waving at Astrid with a worried expression on his face.

A nurse stops in the hallway, shaking his hand with a beaming smile and she can't help but admire how flawless his fakery is. She recognizes the broad grin from TV, from the campaign signs in her neighbor's front yard. As soon as he's back alone in the hallway, his face becomes pliant, staring at her with concerned furrowed eyebrows.

She waves absently, hoping that he'll continue on his way.

Of course, Hiccup's infuriating nosiness didn't come from his _mother_, and Gerard steps forward, opening the door and peeking his head around the corner, newspaper selling grin back in place.

"Everything alright in here Astrid?" The social worker does a double take, cocking her head. "Congressman Haddock," he steps forward, shaking her hand. Astrid shoots him a death glare as he fully comes into the room, closing the door behind him and perching on the edge of the bed like he's invited.

The woman is too shocked to say anything, and Astrid rolls her eyes, looking up at Hiccup's father.

"What, do you want my chair?" She offers sarcastically.

"No, you're fine."

"Are you sure? You look like you're getting comfortable." She urges, half standing up before he presses her back down with a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Mr. Haddock, this is a private—"

"Call me Jerry," The woman blushes, and Astrid has to wonder about Hiccup's lack of easy charm.

"Jerry," she says quietly, "we're discussing Astrid's _immediate_ future—"

"Signed with CU today," he thumps her shoulder and she glares at him impressively enough that he rocks away from her, hands landing on his knees.

"She was just telling me," Beth continues, voice tight beneath her still slightly star-struck exterior. "Now Sir—"

"Jerry."

"Sir. What exactly is your relationship to Miss Hofferson?" He looks thoughtful for a moment.

"Family friend," he chooses his words carefully. It's not a lie, and Astrid nods in exasperated agreement. As if this weren't hard enough to swallow without anyone else involving themselves.

But behaving _responsibly_ is key, if she wants the ultimate grand plan of taking care of Hiccup to work out.

Astrid opens her mouth to ask Hiccup's father to leave at the same moment as the social worker continues their previous conversation.

"I'll meet you in the ICU soon—"

"I'll locate a local foster household—"

"Foster household?" Gerard asks and the room falls eerily silent. Astrid shifts in her seat, uncomfortable nausea flooding her throat as she sits stock straight, staring at the social worker with a blank face.

"Mr. Haddock, maybe you should leave, I don't think—"

"I'm a registered foster parent," he offers, and Astrid turns to him wide eyed and wondering why he'd even mention it. That's just cruel, flaunting it in front of her like that.

"Is…" The woman makes a note in Astrid's file, choosing her words carefully. "Miss Hofferson needs to be signed into temporary custody of a foster parent until her eighteenth birthday." She continues eyes steely.

"Well hand me the paper," he holds his ham hock hand out, and Astrid feels her heart expand, as she gulps, hopeful beyond all realistic expectations. The social worker looks at her carefully, recognizing relief in her eyes as she leans down, extracting a carbon copy sheet from her briefcase.

"If you're ok with that…" Astrid can only manage to nod, hands worrying at the hem of her running shorts as she leans too far forward in her seat. For the first time since last Sunday morning, everything feels like it might end up alright.

The scratch of ballpoint on the white paper is poetry.

"Ok, Astrid." She tries to get the girl's attention, maneuvering around the growing grin on her face. "Astrid?"

"Listening."

"You need to get this signed by your current guardian and postmarked to this address by the tenth," she points at contact information, hoping that it gets through Astrid's already glazed smile. "Did you get that?"

"Postmarked by the tenth," Gerard repeats, so utterly fatherly that Astrid's heart leaps terrified and excited into her throat.

It's a blur as everyone shakes the social worker's hand, standing and walking around the room with a warm shadow looming at her side as they leave the too crowded room, into the mostly still hallway. Astrid avoids making eye contact until they reach a fork in the hallway, branching off towards the ICU and the parking garage that the both of them have gotten to know far too well.

Astrid thumbs the thin strip of glue at the edge of her form, glancing up at Gerard before tottering backwards towards the parking garage hallway, pointing sheepishly.

"So," Hiccup's father looks at her almost sadly, and she answers the pity with an overly defiant glare. "Your parents won't mind if you stay and take care of Henry?" She stops with a sigh, running a hand over her face.

"More like…More like I don't mind if _he _minds," she clarifies, shrugging.

"Does Henry…who…" He starts, words failing him.

"Henry knows. You know now, I guess. The social worker knows." She grimaces, unable to hold the truth with her usual iron girders. "Everyone who saw my CAT scan last week knows." After years and years of keeping it silent, keeping it hidden, everything is falling out of control. She can see it in the papers, she can see it in her file, on her resume, haunting her for the rest of her life.

"Let's go get your things," Gerard suggests, perennially a man of action, and Astrid glares at him, stepping backwards and standing stick straight.

"How about I go get this signed and get my things," she corrects and receives nothing but a skeptical look.

"I'm responsible for you—"

"Not until this is postmarked." She answers defiantly, and Gerard wonders why he ever wished for more pugnacious offspring. Something about her expression is convincing, and he sighs.

"I expect you at the house in two hours." She rolls her eyes, and he feels so parental that he glances towards the ICU in presumed betrayal. Henry is going to have a heart attack. "Or I'm going to come and find you."

"Mr. Haddock?" Astrid asks, eyebrows furrowed.

"Call me Jerry, please."

"Jerry?"

"Yeah?" He's still thinking this situation through, changes floating through his head like smoke.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I've been a pretty shitty father for the last few years—"

"So you're going to fix it with more responsibility?" She cuts him off, snarling at him despite her more intelligent inclinations.

"So I'm not going to let my son's girlfriend get booted around," he finishes, and she flushes crimson.

"I'm not his girlfriend—"

"I'm not blind." He cuts her off with a slight smile.

"Why are you a foster parent anyway?"

"Val—my wife made me sign up, it's easier for me because I work in the government…and well, for a while it didn't look like Henry was a possibility," he submits honestly and Astrid bites her lip. "Two hours counting down," he reminds her, checking his watch and tapping the handsome crystal. She sighs, rummaging for her keys and slinging her backpack fully over her shoulders, before pivoting to walk down the hallway to her car.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

00000

It's strange, standing in the middle of her bedroom, loading everything that she cares about into two large suitcases on the floor. Honestly, it's a surprisingly small pile, mostly clothes and shoes, hair utensils and makeup stacked on top in neat piles. She slides her pictures and a few trinkets into the front sleeve of her bigger duffle, sitting on it to zip it shut.

She'll have to make another trip, eventually, but her summer clothes just don't seem important at the moment. She checks her watch, cursing quietly as she sees she only has 45 minutes left in her allotted time. The last thing she wants is a Congressman bursting into her law paranoid household and poking her father's buttons.

She can't tell whether she doesn't want her dad in jail because she _cares_ about him or because she doesn't want to stomach the embarrassment. She can't imagine that her dad would do well in jail, middle aged and belligerent in the midst of people just as angry and callus as he is.

After loading her bags into the backseat of her car, she grudgingly walks back inside, the house key already feeling foreign on her keychain. Her room looks barren with her favorite blanket packed, and she perches on the edge of her futon to wait, hands crossed across her lap.

It's just a signature. She can get a signature no problem. She refuses to let herself be nervous, pulling her phone out of her pocket and playing games until she hears the garage door creak open.

She carefully grabs the form and a pen, silently trotting upstairs to sit at the head of the dining room table, in this case choosing drama over practicality.

Astrid taps her foot, body charging like a battery with every creak, every heavy footfall on the stairs. If it comes to a fight, she's ready to _win_ this time.

"Astrid?" Her father blinks at her, horribly sober, and she stares at him, sliding the pen and form in his general direction.

"You're caught." She admits, more quietly than she'd like, clearing her throat.

"What?"

"You're caught out." She repeats, her toes braced for take-off underneath the table, "I had to get a CAT scan. They found _everything_."

"Found what?"

"Bruises, broken bones…social services is involved," she continues, speaking plainly and calmly as she nudges the paper closer to him. He freezes, and Astrid sighs, frustrated.

She wishes that she had a knife, or an axe, to twirl and threaten. Anything to move this along without leaping into harm's way.

"Social services?" She wonders how long he's been sober, how long he's planning on being sober. Sometimes, she wonders how much he remembers.

She's argued with herself before, if he doesn't remember, then it can't matter, right? That glint of sympathy is gone now, her voice gritty as he continues.

"I'm being assigned to foster care." The words that have always cowered on the back of her tongue feel like freedom on the way out of her mouth. "And I need you to sign this."

"Astrid, no, I'll be better," he offers, and she can't stand the teary sound of his voice. It's disgusting and weak.

"Until you get drunk next." She snarls, feeling larger and stronger than she actually is as she reflexively puffs up.

"I'm…I started the meetings, I've been going to AA—"

"Until you quit again." Five days does not a transformation make.

"I won't let them take you." He says it like it's a comfort, and bile wells up in her throat.

"You think I like this? You think I like telling people what I've had to go through?" She snaps, standing from her chair and facing off squarely. She picks up the paper, walking over to him and shoving it into his hands along with the pen, before taking two long steps back. "It's this, or court."

He glances at her face, glances at the paper. She sees too much of herself in his perplexed expression, but forces her face placid. It's shark diving without a cage. It's sky diving without testing the parachute.

"Congressman Haddock?" He reads off of the paper, mind struggling for details of that fateful Sunday night.

"Yeah. Congressman Haddock."

"You're going to leave here, and go live with Congressman Haddock."

"Once you sign the form."

"I'll get a lawyer, I'll fight this, you don't have to go," he urges, and she bites her tongue, refusing to acknowledge the glint of the man he used to be. She remembers when she was happy when he came home. She remembers daytrips to the reservoir, and doting presents at the bookstore.

Those times are gone.

"I want to go."

"Astrid, I'm your father—"

"You donated some DNA, big deal."

"I know I've messed up, I just need time to fix it, just let me fix it." Fathers shouldn't beg, fathers shouldn't cry. Astrid crosses her arms, cocking her hip as defiantly as she can as she stares him down.

"I need time." She sighs, taking another step back and staring meaningfully at the pen in his hands. "Don't you want me to stop hating you?"

"Of course, if you just give me a chance—"

"No." She shakes her head, "Sign the papers, I'm the one who gets a second chance this time."

"What if you never come back?" He asks, voice pitifully small. She wishes he were drunk, so that she'd at least know what she was dealing with.

"If you make me stay, I never will." She's never heard herself sound so hard, and she likes it way more than she should. "That's a promise."

The pen scratching across the second line of the form doesn't feel like victory and she avoids eye contact as she snatches the paper back, hands shaking as she dodges around him, jogging out to her car. She drives too fast down narrow suburban streets, noticing mailboxes and shrubs that she may never see again.

Her house key hangs too heavy in her hand as she finally pulls up to the end of the grandiose gravel driveway, turning her car off and staring at the house that looms above her comfortingly.

Now, all she needs is Hiccup.

00000

Astrid sits in mythology class the following Tuesday, awkwardly ignoring the whispered conversations behind her back. Sure, she's _heard_ all the rumors before, but that doesn't stop her from hating them.

They say that she broke up with Scott because she found another boyfriend. They say that Hiccup is a drug dealer. They say that she decided to go and become a nun.

The alarming part is the fact that she really couldn't care less. Ruff is there for her, and Fishlegs by default. She even saw Scott yelling at some freshman the other day for calling her a whore. Things are much like they've always been, but the stares are different.

They're pitying stares, judging stares.

She has a trio of stressed out zits on her chin that she hasn't even bothered to hide. Despite her comfortable new bed in her safe new house, she can't sleep, and dark circles have bloomed under her eyes like bruises.

If she goes to sleep, she has nightmares, dusty concrete hallways haunt her dreams like ghosts and she wakes up in a cold sweat, clutching Spike to her with white knuckled fingers.

Worrying about her father had been a welcome excuse, a wonderful escape from worrying about Hiccup. Something clicked in her brain when they passed the week mark of his coma.

This could be permanent.

With her own safety a given for the first time in years, she's left with far too much time to drive herself crazy. Her chest feels like it's filled with a storm cloud, lightning and thunder bursting from her heart at the most inappropriate times, zapping the rest of the emotions from her body. She just feels hurt, and sometimes sick…his leg…

She asked the nurse to see it over the weekend, and couldn't help but be almost offended by the innocuous looking skin cap, held together with thick stitches and coated with antibacterial gauze. He's going through all this pain, and _that's_ what he gets? The wound looks too clean, too normal in the scope of the hospital bed.

It's an image that's been hard to shake.

One foot and one _stump_ side by side like fraternal twins.

She would give just about anything to trade places, he'd gone back in to find _her_. If she'd just gotten out in time, if she hadn't stayed to fight, then none of this would have happened. If only his asthma hadn't been so bad in that dusty concrete hallway she now sees in her nightmares. If only Toothless had his other front leg to pull with.

It doesn't help that regionals are only a week and a half away, and while she's doing better, it still feels like she has a long way to go to get her stamina back after an untimely week off. Six mile runs give her time to think, which is really the last thing that she needs. Thinking makes her want to shut down, thinking makes feelings well up bigger than she's ever had to deal with before.

She's sure that by now, Hiccup's father thinks he made a big mistake taking her in, because all she does is stare at walls and take care of Toothless.

The wolf is doing better, but it's obvious that he misses Hiccup and is starting to resent Astrid for his absence. She's glad that he has Spike, the two dogs have bonded, and the pit spends a lot of her time worrying over her new friend. She wishes she could just explain to him what's going on.

She wishes she knew what's going on, because honestly, the old 'wait and see' tactic is suffocating.

Just as she's starting to get her hopes up that their mythology teacher is ditching class for some miraculous reason when the woman bustles in, setting her bags down at her desk with an apology. She situates herself before approaching Astrid, looking empathetic but stern. The bell rings and the class quiets just enough to eavesdrop on their former golden girl's conversation.

"I understand that the other half of your team is…incapacitated at the moment, and we're all hoping for his full recovery." Astrid looks at the woman like she's grown a second head. "But today is really the last day you can present without taking a zero, I have your PowerPoint on the USB he gave me."

"Today? Like now?" She asks, feeling unprepared for the pressure of speaking off the cuff for both of their grades. She can just imagine Hiccup, reminding her that they've been planning for this, and it isn't _exactly_ shocking.

She smirks in spite of herself, the conversation in her head far more comforting than the one going on in reality.

"I'm sorry—"

"It's fine, load the PowerPoint. I can do it." She remembers when talking to teachers involved a barely concealed array of snide smirks and twisted grimaces.

The teacher sets up the computer and the too familiar green and black graphic pops up on the screen. Her entire soul aches. She shouldn't feel it this deeply, she doesn't even know what this is, this all-consuming _concern_.

She stands from her seat, traipsing to the podium at the front of the classroom, scanning across the curious faces for something interesting.

"Hi. Umm, Hicc—Henry, his name is Henry," she says it like a command. He's not some cruel nickname, he's so much better than that. "Henry and I did our project on the Valkyries." She fiddles with the remote to the computer for a second, clicking the button to change to the first set of bullet points, she stares at the information for a second before setting the remote down decidedly and turning to face the class.

She sighs, drumming her fingers on the wooden table top of the podium, biting her lip.

What would Henry do if he were in her place?

Probably something stupid.

She looks up, smiling softly as her eyes complete a slow circuit of the room.

"This PowerPoint is brilliant. It's amazing, and has cooler graphics than a 3D movie, but it's not what I want to show." She glances over at the teacher whose grading notebook is sitting down on her desk. This is off of the books and she grins, feeling more herself than she has in days. "Henry chose the topic, I wanted to do Thor." She muses, sitting down in the swivel chair at the front of the room, dangling her legs. "Something about a huge buff god with a hammer was oddly appealing, you know? Just seemed interesting, but he was insistent, and I figured if he chose the topic it wouldn't be my fault if it sucks. Plus, I'm having some trouble in math and physics this year and needed the extra study time." She feels naked in front of them, all of these people she's been perfect for. Now she's sitting in front of them with two days' worth of bed head thrown into a sloppy ponytail and sweatpants that are nearly falling off.

She feels stronger than ever.

"And at first, he did his work and I did mine, but then something changed. One night, I had absolutely no one to call, but when his phone rang at three in the morning, he was there. And—and we became friends." She thinks of Spike, and Toothless and the first time a kiss made her feel alive. "Really good friends. And then he told me about the Valkyries and why he was interested in them." She blinks a little too rapidly, refusing to sniff.

"He said that they're a lot like me." Everyone in the room smirks, and Astrid backpedals. "I know what you're thinking, that means they were all horrible bitches—sorry for the language, I just need to say this," the teacher nods, flabbergasted and Astrid continues. "—He said that they were like me because they're warriors. They're female warriors in Asgard and they guide warriors' souls from Midgard to Valhalla. They fly and kick some serious butt…and they're…they're beautiful. Henry…well, he said that they're… he said that they're beautiful and _noble_. Like me." The class snickers and Astrid rolls her eyes, more at home in front of them than she's felt since being popular was fun.

"I thought he was crazy too. Me? Noble?" She sighs, scratching at a corner of peeling stain with a bitten off fingernail. "Henry thinks so. He's really corny like that sometimes, so corny and sweet enough that I swear hanging out with him has given me a mouthful of cavities." She laughs, staring at her hands on the desk, and missing him so much that it feels like her chest has collapsed completely. She can see his too still face in her mind's eye and she frowns looking back over her shoulder at the PowerPoint and advances it all of the way through to the picture at the end. The one that's there for a joke, with a diligent Valkyrie dragging a confused looking Henry type through the clouds.

"And…" Is she really thinking about what she's going to say next? Yes. Yes, she is, and it's true. So true. "And I love him." There's a collective gasp, apparently she's still good gossip, even with her recently rumored drug problem and her plummet from the top of the food chain.

She loves him. She loves him so much. That's what this totally all-consuming depression is. She _loves_ him.

She loves his goofy smile and too skinny legs, and the way that he looks at her like she's more than a sum of her features. She beams at the room, happy for the moment as they stare at her, absolutely baffled.

If he doesn't wake up soon, she's going to kick his ass.

00000

**I would have to say that I am trucking right along...and your reviews have helped more than you guys can ever know. Please oh please keep them coming, I know I'm asking a lot, one of these beefy chapters every day...but I really want to get this to a happy place soon! **

**These guys have been through enough, right? **

**Anyway, tell me what you think of the revelations in this chapter, a lot happens, and I really want to know what you guys think.**

**Plus, bonus points to anyone who can identify the lines in this chapter that I've been giggling over since yesterday. Hint Hint...Stoick is sure presumptive**

**Anyway, thank you for reading...and double thank you for reviewing!**


	33. Chapter 33

00000

By Friday, it's snowing, and Astrid shivers as she rushes through the hospital parking lot, eager to get inside the heated building. She shakes off her jacket in the airlock between automatic doors before walking inside, greeting the receptionist on the way to Hiccup's room.

It's the same today as it is every other day, slow rhythmic beeping and whirring around his still body in the middle of a bed that looks far too wide. It always takes her breath away, and she looks away from his pale sunken cheeks, taking her coat off and hanging it from the back of her chair.

"It's snowing," she tells him, sitting down and resting her chin on the side of the mattress, watching the hypnotic rise and fall of his chest. Her hand inches over the sheets, finding his and squeezing gently. "I love you."

There's a hint of superstition leaking through her candid voice as she holds her breath, watching him carefully until the last echo of her voice disappears from her head. Something about saying it out loud to him introduces a millisecond of magic to the otherwise banal room, and she waits for him to stir.

If he could hear her, he'd wake up, right?

She doesn't know exactly what he'd say, because as much as she hates to admit it, it's not quite likely that he feels the same. Sure, it's obvious that he likes her, and that he would have asked her out, if they'd had more _time_, but love?

The word is still petrifying to her, too strong to stay detached, but there's no other emotion that could cause this ache. Every second he ignores her, every moment he drifts further and further away from the last time they talked is a bullet to the heart. Now that she's realized it, she can't help but wonder when it started. What about Hiccup made her _change_?

"We have soooo much to talk about," she mutters her forehead tipping forward onto the sheet as she breathes in the stagnant boy smell, a mix of Hiccup and hospital soap. "I mean, since the last time we talked, Toothless has had surgery and I've moved into your house, not to mention all of…well, you know." She squeezes his hand tighter and he doesn't squeeze back.

"I guess you don't know."

She looks up, lifting her hand gently and bending his arm at the elbow, frowning at its stiff empty weight.

"You should really think about waking up soon, you must have lost ten pounds. Well fifteen including the foot…sorry, I didn't mean it to come out like that…" She can see his ribs, the sharp protrusion of the edge of his ribcage muted by the thick blanket folded across his chest. "And, anyway, you didn't have ten extra pounds." She lets go of his hand, stretching forward and touching his side, closing her eyes and feeling for any residual warmth leaking through the blanket. "And oh god, school has been a complete nightmare since Tuesday, the good news is everyone calls you Henry now, the bad news is I can't get them to stop. I hope you're ready to wake up famous," she muses.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to stick with the whole _Henry_ thing though, you're still Hiccup to me. Not in a bad way or anything…"she trails off, glaring lightly at his side, "Fine, if you want me to call you Henry, I will, but it still sounds weird."

"You're probably going to just have to live with me calling you Hiccup."

"Feel free to interject any time by the way," she adds, re-gripping his hand and sitting up straight, staring at his slack face with overwhelming purpose. She tries to visualize his eyes opening, the monitors picking up in pace as he looks around the room and asks her where he is.

She pokes at his elbow and watches his fingers twitch reflexively, smiling lightly at him. Apparently that's a big deal, the fact that he hasn't lost his brain stem reflexes after two weeks. That's pretty much the only thing keeping the doctors from throwing around horrible words like 'persistent vegetative state.'

Well, the reflexes and his stubbornly high brain activity, but then again this is _Hiccup_. He's probably expanded upon the theory of relativity or something, and he's having a really great dream about a PhD dissertation.

"You know, it's not exactly easy to carry on a one-sided conversation for two weeks. I really don't know what else you want me to say. I've told you about school, which I'm sure you don't actually care about. I've told you about physics homework, which I'm sure was the highlight of your week. You probably know the answer to number 3, don't you?" She gently punches his arm.

"That's for not telling me, jerk."

She looks to him, chewing on the inside of her ragged cheek until the silence starts to make her nauseous.

"I told you I love you about a million times by now," she laughs sheepishly, trying to find humor in one of the most miserable situations of her life. "What do you think about that?"

Obvious silence.

"I bet you're disappointed. God, your girlfriend said 'I love you' before you even asked her out? She sounds crazy." She strokes the back of his hand, thick blue veins visible beneath his pale skin. "I was kind of hoping you'd be happy though. That could be nice." She admits, voice too small in her constricting throat. "Especially since I've pretty much butted my way into your life entirely at this point, it'd be really great if you don't wake up mad at me."

"I mean, I'm definitely expecting you to be confused…and angry, I just hope you're not mad at me, in particular. I guess it's expected for you to be mad at me a bit…because it is partially my fault. If I'd just run I—" She cuts herself off with a frustrated grunt.

"But I doubt you want to hear any more about that." She drums her fingers against his arms, sparse auburn hair tickling her fingertips.

"Your dad misses you like crazy, you know. He really does love you, he's just…well, we actually get along quite well, strangely enough. He just wants you to be happy, and healthy and…"

"I seriously don't know what I'm going to do without you, Hiccup…and don't say homicide, that's not an answer. Even if it's probably true." She rests her forehead against his hand, her lips tingling where they touch his fingers.

"Seriously though, I owe you…a lot," she admits, his pulse under her forehead oddly comforting. "And it's pretty comforting that's not going to leave this room, but…anyway. I just…I don't want to keep doing this without you, I'm sick of dealing with so much on my own. And I'm never going to forgive myself if you don't—"

"Finally! We found the right room!" Ruff shoves through the door, booming drawl echoing in the quiet place as Astrid startles, leaping a foot into the air as her head whips around.

"Ruff! Keep it down, would you?" She snarls, heart beating a psycho tattoo in her chest.

"What? You afraid I'm going to wake him up?" The taller girl asks, morbidly curious as she peeks over Astrid's shoulder at the boy on the bed. Fishlegs shuffles into the room behind her, balloons absurd in his oversized hand.

"Guess not," Astrid frowns, "But do you have to shout?"

"Don't get your panties in a wad," Ruff urges, sitting down in the other chair and glancing at Hiccup a second time before looking back at Astrid. "Is this…Is he always like this?"

"It's a coma," she shrugs, crossing her arms awkwardly.

"It says here that he's maintained 90% of his reflexes," Fishlegs glances excitedly through Hiccup's file and Astrid can't help but smile lightly.

"The doctors are impressed with that one too." It's awkwardly silent as Fishlegs carefully ties the balloons to the third chair in the opposite corner of the room. "You guys should have told me you were coming to visit. I could have helped you find the room."

"We figured we'd surprise you," the girl shrugs, leaning back in her chair and stretching her soggy snow boots out ahead of her, leaving streaky puddles on the floor.

"Don't you mean surprise Hiccup?" Astrid asks, hugging her knees.

"He looks surprised," the sarcastic drawl is morbidly funny enough that Astrid cracks a smile.

"Yeah, you almost gave him a heart attack." Astrid mutters sarcastically and Ruff laughs quietly, looking around the room the same way her friend has done at least a thousand times.

"So…"

"Yeah?"

"You and Hiccup, huh?" Of course the whole school knows about her _outburst_ in class on Tuesday. Scott dented a locker when he heard. "Or should I call him _Henry_?"

"I'm just sick of assholes calling him Hiccup, you can call him that…" She trails off, wondering if choosing his _name_ for him is a mistake.

"Anyway, you and Hiccup?" Ruff repeats her question and Astrid glances at Fishlegs, who's muttering something to Hiccup under his breath.

"Hey, you're with _Fishlegs_," Astrid gestures, "No offense, Fish."

"None taken," the boy nods grudgingly.

"I wasn't judging," Ruff nudges her rubber toe along the ground, staring at the black mark she leaves behind. "I was just asking."

"Oh…then yeah. I guess." Astrid answers simply, her hand finding Hiccup's on top of the sheet. Ruff's eyes flick to the bed and she grins.

"Does he know about it?" Ruff asks, and Astrid shrugs.

"I kissed him again, if that's what you're asking." She's not particularly keen on being interrogated about her personal life, but there's something wonderful about how _alive_ she feels remembering that kiss.

She stares at his face, wondering what he'll look like the next time she gets the chance. How much skinnier will he be? If he's under much longer, muscle atrophy is going to become a real issue.

"And I was right, wasn't I?"

"Of course." Astrid submits, hard shell cracking as she looks over away from Hiccup and frowns. "I—He might be a little foggy on the last couple of days before…everything."

"So…he might not remember?" Ruff asks uncharacteristically softly, and Astrid shrugs.

"Not right away."

"I didn't realize that this was all such a big deal." The taller girl admits, gesturing to the room at large, her gaze zeroing in on odd silhouette of Hiccup's shortened leg under the blanket. Astrid follows her gaze and shrugs, uncomfortable.

"The doctor said that a prosthetic won't be _too_ hard to outfit," She looks on the bright side, and Ruff stares at her astonished.

"Since when are you all optimistic?"

"Since being pessimistic got really fucking depressing. And plus, I'm not an optimist, I'm a realist." Astrid answers, looking at the calendar on the wall. "He's going to miss his birthday." She comments. His father even noted the event, his thick scrawl engraved into the shiny paper.

"Well, you don't _know_ that…he could wake up by then."

"I'm just being _realistic_."

"Har har," Ruff fakes a laugh, eyes flicking back to Hiccup's foot every few seconds. "How old is he turning, anyway?"

"18," Astrid drums her fingers on the armrest of her chair. "Hell of a birthday to miss, right?"

"Yeah. I mean, he should be out there…going to strip clubs and buying cigars," Ruff laments, and Astrid can't help but crack up at that. "What? That's what dudes do when they turn eighteen, I guess, I mean, that's what Tuff did—"

"Hiccup in a strip club?" Astrid repeats her friend's assumption, "Come on, picture that, and tell me it's not hilarious." The other girl smiles and mimes wide eyed shock.

"Ok, that is pretty funny."

It really is nice, chatting with Ruff, or really anyone who answers back but doesn't stop every two seconds to ask her how she is. She's sick of the sympathy, she's sick of people treating her like a lovelorn puppy, when she's not. She's an incredibly sad girl, who couldn't be more cornered and pushed and pulled, and she misses her rock.

Her incredibly scrawny, flimsy, wonderful rock.

Fishlegs is mostly talking to Hiccup, and Astrid is glad for that too. The bigger boy is muttering something to his friend, voice occasionally peaking sharply in pitch before dipping into an urgent whisper. At least someone else is treating him like he's still here, like he's still listening.

Astrid really _really_ hopes that it's true.

00000

"I won' ya te hang back until the mile," Gobber instructs, pacing up and down a patch of orange dirt with an uneven clip-clop as Astrid laces her racing flats.

"But—"

"No buts, everyone's goin' te expect ye te go out fast, we don' want anyone pushin' ye too fast." He insists and she resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"No one else here has broken 17:40 this season." She's not bragging, just stating the fact. Hiccup's voice rings in her head as a bracing reminder, '_No one here has run as fast as you have_."

"But at least a quarter of 'em 'ave run this course before," he reminds her and she looks back at the course map on the ground beside her, memorizing the curves and hills.

"It doesn't look so bad," she insists, chest feeling a bit tight as she thinks about the rather dramatic uphill finish.

"An' make yer move at the 2 mile," Gobber insists, pacing starting back up as he checks his watch. Astrid nods obediently, half accepting of his advice and half wishing for silence.

Or Hiccup. Hiccup would be better than silence.

She pulls her cellphone out of her gym bag and checks it for what feels like the hundredth time since she started stretching. Gerard insisted that he'd text her as soon as anything happened, and she's just crossing her fingers that things remain calm until her race is over.

She's running at five o'clock, and they have a flight out scheduled for eight, so she'll be back in Evergreen by midnight at the latest. Honestly she's surprised she got away with cramming all of the travel into a single day. Gobber came to her with some grand plan to get a free vacation out of the school athletics budget, but she couldn't bring herself to spend more time away than necessary.

Far too much hangs in the balance.

Ugh, not now! She pushes those kinds of thoughts from her head, focusing on the warm quivering of her hamstrings as she rolls her ankles, staring at the finishing hill with focused eyes.

She can do this. One more race…unless she makes it to nationals, but those aren't until January anyway.

Nationals. The fact that she has a real shot at nationals is a burst of inspiration and she smiles, determined.

"…oh Christ, ye didn't hear a word of tha' did ye?"

"Huh?"

"At the two mile, I wan' ye te overtake on the uphill. Ye'll have no problem holdin' them off if ye force em' te fight ye on the hill."

"I can't kick on a hill," she retorts, looking at the colorful athletic tape wrapped around her knee.

"Ye've been on the weights, I think ye might surprise yerself." Astrid sighs, looking down at the legs that may or may not be more muscular for her weight training. She doesn't _feel_ any stronger, but she doesn't really have a choice here. The more she looks around at comparatively small girls running through plyometric drills, the more anxious she gets.

Everyone here is some school's Astrid Hofferson.

"I've got a chance, right?" She asks, nervousness poorly veiled.

"Ye jus' said. No one here has run as fast as you."

"Ok," she agrees, letting Hiccup's voice play in the back of her head like a broken record.

At least the starting line is familiar, packed together with a mob of fierce looking competition, toes lined up side by side. She's glad to still be close to the middle of the pack, and she bounces quietly, breathing in slow expert breaths as she prepares her still healing throat.

The official steps forward, gun in hand, and fires.

It's already different, Astrid realizes, surging off the line with more than her normal required speed, carried forward by the blazing group around her. She sprints out, long legs striding confidently across the hard packed dirt, chest already aching as she pulls into the first turn, hovering behind the three frontrunners.

It's immediately obvious what Gobber was worried about, the second place girl is surging behind the leader, goading her with looming footsteps. A girl tries to surge past Astrid on her right and she kicks just enough to prevent it, elbows out as she trails the third place girl by twenty feet, keeping a stoic eye on the front runners ahead.

She's shocked by how good she feels, her lungs throbbing is lively in her chest as her legs churn at the ground beneath her. Her knee doesn't twinge, and she wonders if the week off was actually a good thing, in the end.

Before she knows it, she's at the mile, and the girls ahead of her speed up, tugging her along with them like they have an imaginary string tied around her waist. It's the first time in years that she hasn't been fixated on time, and she doesn't bother to listen for the number over the throbbing of her heartbeat in her ears.

At about the halfway point, it hits her that she has a chance to _win_ this. She really does, she can hear the footsteps behind her fading as the third place runner starts to drop back, limping in an ungainly way that can only mean a side cramp. She edges her way into third place, slowly gaining on the two girls in the lead, who are fighting each other with every step.

She can imagine Hiccup asking her about the race. "_Oh, you won? Guess my managerial prowess paid off_."

Gobber cheers like a crazy man from his post at the two mile, hopping up and down and coaxing a miserable smile from her heaving mouth. Only a mile to go. Only one more mile.

She veers around the corner, daunted by the towering hill looming over her head.

She wishes for the thousandth time that Hiccup were here, cheering her forward. She can hear him now in the back of her mind, nasally voice teasing her. _"So you _did_ miss me…"_

The kick flows through her feet like a pressurized hose and she runs up behind the other two girls, veering to their right and cresting the hill with throbbing legs and a victorious grin. They don't go down without a fight, suddenly working together as they flank her, trying to catch up from either side as she coasts down the hill, arms swinging tightly with her strides.

The eight hundred meter warning is like an early Christmas and she layers on another level of speed that she didn't know she was hiding, inching away perilously slowly as she arcs into the final quarter mile climb of the race.

Not so bad? Was that really her who said that this didn't look so bad?

She's an idiot, this is insane.

Her legs are numb halfway up the hill, just as the finish comes into view ahead of her. She can see Gobber, his hysterics having surpassed cheering and entered the realm of yelling as he points at her, jumping frantically.

Footsteps echo on her right and she grits her teeth, adrenaline flooding her system.

Suddenly and inexplicably, she feels it. Everything condenses to a narrow tunnel, pulling her towards the finish line with near frantic leaps, stabbing pain shooting through her exhausted hamstrings with every gargantuan step. The tape snaps across her chest and she flails forward, catching herself on a pole before bending over and hurling her lunch out over the grass. She wipes her mouth and stands, beaming as the cameras flash in her face.

She's never given a proper TV interview before, and she stutters through her chance, staring into the camera and laughing nervously at the sportscaster's friendly questions. It's not like a pep rally, or even a party, it's far more public and far more penetrating.

"And you're going to nationals, any hopes for the world championship in Glasgow?" He asks and she grins, the words too good to be true.

"I'm still coming to grips with the fact that I'm going to nationals" She gets out, glancing at the camera before turning her smile back to the newscaster. "But of course I'm hoping to make it to Worlds."

Worlds. The word is completely foreign and fantastic in her mind. It still seems surreal to leave the _state_ to race, let alone the country. But of course she has to place top five at Nationals to make the world team, and for the first time, winning seems truly impossible.

Maybe top ten, but top five?

"_We'll just threaten everyone faster than you with Toothless, and they'll drop out._"

She wonders if talking to herself in someone else's voice qualifies her as crazy. She's not even as funny as Hiccup, it's still a feeble imitation, at best.

"That would mean transitioning to the international five mile race, how would that change your training technique?"

"That might be a better question for my coach," the camera briefly pans to Gobber, who's grinning like a proud father, before zooming back in on Astrid's still flushed face. "I'm sure he's already dreaming up workouts to push my stamina."

"Sounds like every coach's dream," the man laughs, and Astrid fades out, her grinning winner front running autonomously as her mind drifts to her cell phone.

She needs to check it, Gerard might have called. There might be something…

"…college?" She snaps back to the conversation.

"Actually I just signed on at CU," she interjects, smiling broadly and willing herself to pay attention to the conversation at hand.

"Well there you have it, looks like we have a new reason to watch the Buffs next season."

The next two hours are a blur, it feels like one long worried blink and she's suddenly at the airport, taking off her shoes to go through security and hoping desperately that her phone doesn't ring on its way through the metal detector. Gobber edges behind her in line, chuckling slightly at her nervous hands wringing together.

"Yer phone'll still be there on the other side," he teases her, and she glares at him ferociously.

"I know."

"And the boy'll be there when we get back." Astrid crosses her arms, tapping her sock covered foot irritably. "Ah, come on lassie, if ye don' want people pryin' in yer personal life, don' give a presentation on it."

"I didn't," she insists feebly, more than happy to move a step closer to the front of the line.

"How's tha' Spike girl doing?" Gobber asks, diverting the stilted conversation and Astrid smiles grudgingly.

"She's good, she likes having a yard, I think," She knows that by this point, Gobber knows where she's living, and probably more about _everything_ than she'd like. She's not sure who's choosing to avoid the topic of conversation, but she has no interest to bring it up herself.

"I always worried about tha' girl," he shakes his head, as a business man argues with the TSA agent ahead of them.

"Why?" 

"She needed a lot o' work. Came to us all beaten an' agry, woulda taken my arm if someone hadn't beaten her to it." He holds his hook up in her periphery and she looks at the appendage in a new light. It's impossible not to glance down at his metal leg, and she hurriedly traces the line of his prosthetic before averting her eyes, embarrassed.

"It's not a death sentence, ye know." He reminds her, and her eyes flick back to his foot. "It's…well, it's an adjustmen', an' don' underestimate tha', but things are better than they were twenty years ago."

"I know," she mumbles, pulling away and ducking through the metal detector, glad to have escaped the conversation. Her phone didn't ring on its way through the security check and she pockets it, double checking that it's on vibrate. Gobber passes through as she's putting on her shoes, handing the TSA agent his papers that prove his bodily metal is doctor approved.

"Got everything?" Her coach double checks, slinging his bag over his shoulder and peering into the gray bin for anything that might have fallen out.

"I'm good," she pats her pocket reflexively, tapping her phone before heading off towards their gate. Bringing up Spike again seems like it might be more awkward than the silence, so she abstains from talking, checking her phone again, completely obsessive.

"Jerry told me ye'll be takin' care of Henry," Gobber jumps back into the conversation that Astrid's been avoiding all day, and she frowns. It was easy to keep things focused on running that morning, but since the flush of victory has faded, it seems impossible to keep diverting him.

"Yeah," she nods, ignoring her coach's knowing look. "He wouldn't want a nurse doing it."

"I don't know who would." As much as she resents this conversation, she does like someone else agreeing her. She feels less like a fickle teenage girl shoving herself into Hiccup's life when he can't decide for himself.

She wishes that there were a manual, some kind of book that she could study, some way to get ready for him to come home. There are obviously going to be issues, and she can't think of a single eighteen year old boy who would really be ok with someone else hefting them around.

Why aren't there manuals? Or people with experience that—

Oh.

"What…what should I do?" She starts, the question feeling foreign on her lips as she shrugs her shoulders close to her ears. "Everyone keeps telling me what I shouldn't do. Don't leave messes on the floor, don't leave him in the bathroom alone, don't let him near the stove, or too close to ledges…" This all sounds impossible.

If it happens at all.

"Don't forget tha' he's just…well, he's not even really Henry. He's just Hiccup." Astrid has to laugh at that assessment, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder. "Doesn't matter how many feet he 'as, he's the same Hiccup."

"I tried the whole Henry thing too…it was just weird," she admits, internalizing this particular advice more than the worried lamentations of all the doctors. Maybe they will be able to figure this out. He's still Hiccup.

Gobber nods. The man can't help but notice the genuine sound of her voice, and the lack of her usual vicious tone. He's glad that the boy has something to wake up to…well aside from everything else. He remembers his own shocking moment, looking down and realizing that his life would never be the same again.

"I don' know where tha' nickname came from, but it's brilliant." Gobber agrees, gesturing towards the gate door when they announce boarding on the 8:07 flight to Denver, Colorado.

Maybe it's the mild claustrophobia of boarding, and maybe it's her thinly veiled frustration at the screaming baby three rows ahead, but she misses the humming of her phone in her front pocket. It's not until the flight attendant steps into the aisle, gesturing to the emergency exits and nagging the passengers to turn off all electronic devices that she pulls her phone out, eyes wide at the text on her screen.

_He's awake._

00000

**DUN DUN DUN!**

**Ok, so exciting ending there, on not the most eventful chapter in the story…but hey, time has to pass and mundane moments have to happen. Mostly, in this chapter, I hoped to emphasize how much Astrid is different, how much she's changing, without becoming weak. **

**Also, Ruff is a solid friend, and Scott still has feelings…so that's good, for intrigue I guess.**

**Next chapter, the big reunion….**

**And warning, I'm going out of town for the weekend, I'm going to try my hardest with chapter 34, and with any luck it'll be up tomorrow morning before I have to leave…but it's a really pivotal moment, and if I don't love it, I'll take more time with it. **

**Anyway, all your reviews have been absolutely fantastic, and I can't tell you how much your support has kept a fire under my butt. Thank you all, and I'd appreciate any help pushing through! **


	34. Chapter 34

00000

Hiccup does not remember getting a new alarm clock. He squints his eyes, wondering how long he's been asleep. It feels like someone rubbed sand between his eyelashes.

He feels unbearably heavy, but can't discern Toothless' bony elbows poking him. Did he go to bed with extra blankets? The sheets are wrong too, he can feel the coarse thin comforter under his fingers. It's ridiculously hard to run his thumb across the fabric, and he gives up trying to wipe his eyes.

Did he take cold medicine? Is this a Nyquil hangover? It's worse than that, heavier. Even his eyelids feel like they're weighed down by ball bearings.

The beeping speeds up and he groans, the sound unfamiliar and raspy in his unbelievably dry throat. He almost coughs, choking on the unimpressive sound as the sound ratchets up another notch.

This alarm clock definitely wins the most annoying award.

His eyes feel stuck together and he wrinkles the bridge of his nose. Even his _face_ feels heavy.

The world gets louder, beeping accelerating yet again as he coughs more mightily, his throat inhumanly sore. It doesn't sound like his voice, but that could be from traveling through the pounds of cotton that must be stuffed in his ear canals.

He feels like he's swimming upwards from the bottom of a very deep pool, light sifting through his eyelids until he knows it's too bright to be his bedroom. Why is he asleep with the lights on? 

He hears a door open, but turning his head towards the noise is somehow too much effort. His fingers twitch reflexively against the blanket, and the skin on the inside of his wrist twinges sharply.

"Henry?" He doesn't recognize the voice, and his eyes slowly tug open, gritty and unfocused as the ceiling swims around. It's not his ceiling, the white checkerboard of industrial pocked foam jarring to his unbelievably groggy brain. "Henry?" The voice asks again, and he can't tell whether it's louder, or his ears are just working better. His head feels like someone smacked him with a hammer. "Can you hear me?" Someone shines an impossibly bright light in his eyes, their hands shockingly warm on his forehead as he flinches away.

"Ymph," he grunts, trying to say 'yeah,' but failing his shaky state. The light clicks off again, and he sluggishly struggles, trying to sit before the same kindly warm hands push down on his shoulders, and he lets them, inexplicably exhausted.

"Can you open your eyes?" He wants to blurt 'of course,' but the words escape him and he blinks slowly. His parched throat tickles, bringing on a second coughing attack, jolting him on the bed.

"Water?" He croaks, and the person breathes an audible sigh of relief, strangely comforting hands leaving his throat as they swish around his bed, pouring water and holding a cup to his lips. He sputters at the cool liquid in his mouth, swallowing carefully until the glass is empty.

"I'm going to be right back, alright? I need to go get a doctor." Woman. Hiccup identifies the voice as a woman, and immediately feels stupid for missing it initially. Doctor? Does he need a doctor?

Why does he need a doctor?

He grasps for the last thing he remembers, coming up startlingly confused as his brain starts to throb within his skull. Pumpkins and concrete? He can almost smell the strange combination in his mind, peppered over by the flowery smell of Astrid's shampoo.

Astrid?

A bolt of panic shoots through him and the beeping spikes as he thinks of the blonde girl. For some reason he can't quite place, he's incredibly concerned. He needs to see Astrid.

"Henry?" This is a man's voice, low and comforting, and warm hands touch his wrist. The inside of his elbow tugs disconcertingly at the contact and he opens his eyes, glancing as best as he can down his arm, eyes widening at the IV sticking out of his skin.

"Astrid?" he grunts, his voice less rough, but still unrecognizably raw.

"No, it's Doctor Johnson, your sister isn't here right now."

"Sister?" The world spins faster. He doesn't have a sister.

Does he?

Even if he does, Astrid definitely isn't his sister.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Henry Haddock," it feels like one of those official situations, where they don't want nicknames. Like SAT's and dentists.

"How about your middle name?" The doctor asks, sounding considerably less grave than a moment before.

"Isn't that in your file?" He coughs, and someone offers him more water, which he gulps gratefully. "Plus, it's horrendous anyway." The water appears back at his mouth and he drains the cup again, stomach suddenly swishy and full. The feeling is spreading down his body as he returns to himself. He can feel his butt prickling to life with pins and needles as he relaxes back into the mattress, muscles tired from drinking.

It feels like he hasn't moved in weeks.

He could really use a nap.

His right foot starts to tingle fiercely, but his left stays dead to the world. He's almost glad about it, because the scratchy sheets feel awful against his awakening skin.

"What about your age? How old are you?" They ask, obviously relieved.

"I'm seventeen." They murmur amongst themselves, before turning back to him. Their faces swirl in the periphery of his vision like he's looking in a funhouse mirror and he closes his eyes.

A nap sounds really wonderful.

He should be wondering why they're asking him these stupid questions, but it's beyond him. That must be what doctors do. They must ask really daft questions for their files.

He doesn't need a doctor right now, that's crazy.

"What about your father's name?" They ask, and he musters the strength to glare at them.

"Gerard Haddock. Why, is this some campaign…nonsense…or something?" He trails off, words failing him as his eyes droop shut. "I'm tired." He complains, squinting his eyes shut and irritably squirming, trying to find a more comfortable position. His hipbones are sore from the same seat for so long, but it feels like he's turned to lead, and moving seems an impossible challenge.

"Go to sleep." He's not awake long enough to hear the whole suggestion.

00000

"…so glad that you're still here…" It sounds like his dad, but that's not right. His dad is mad at him, right?

He struggles to remember what exactly his dad is mad at him about, probably something stupid. Or something crazy.

"…Sorry, for everything…" His dad doesn't apologize, why would his dad be apologizing? What kind of weird dream is this? His eyes flutter open, and the room spins into focus. He musters the strength to turn his head, neck creaking like an old door as he finds his father sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair beside the bed.

"Henry?"

"Hi dad," he mutters back, voice closer to the one he remembers as he clears his throat, thirsty again. He wonders why people keep talking to him like he's an idiot.

He also wonders why he's having so much trouble putting anything together. He is _smart_, right? He remembers figuring things out and wonders if that's a dream.

"Are you…Well, you're not ok, but…" The man blubbers, eyes unfamiliar and wet in his flushed face as he grips his knees. Hiccup can't remember the last time he saw his dad wear sweatpants, and the sight doesn't make any sense.

"Are you going to the gym?" He blurts, and his father looks at him, obviously taken aback.

"What?"

"You're not wearing a suit, are you going to the gym?" He repeats, trying to sit up, but giving up with a frustrated oof. His father stands, fiddling with the controls at the side of his bed until it raises, pushing his shoulders into a reclining position. That's better, he feels less pathetic and he grins sleepily.

How is it already time for more sleep? That makes no sense at all.

He yawns, and it feels good to stretch the muscles in his face.

"I'm not going to the gym. I'm just comfortable." Hiccup's father insists in a gentle voice and he grimaces.

"Stop talking to me like…that." This entire situation is surreal. His dad doesn't wear sweatpants and apologize to him in hospital rooms.

Hospital. That's where he is, he's in a hospital. He grins, happy to have figured _something_ out.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm stupid." Hiccup carefully lifts his hand in front of his face, not yet wanting to try moving his impossibly heavy head. "Why am I in the hospital?" He asks, voice light as he stares at his hands. He does feel awfully fuzzy, his feet are warm underneath the covers and he wiggles his toes. Some of them feel _different_, but it's too much thinking to figure out which ones.

Have his fingers always been _this_ skinny? His hands shake slightly as his eyes trace the tubes from his arm to the IV bag hanging above his head.

"You got hurt—"

"Obviously," Hiccup corrects with a sleepy laugh, planning his next nap in the part of his brain not focused on his hands. They're heavier than he remembers, and it's exceptionally odd to try and remember the weight of his hands.

"You had an…accident." His father continues, and Hiccup lets his hands drop to his stomach with a hollow thud. He looks over at his dad, cuing off of the older man's serious expression.

"An accident?" Gerard's eyes flick to his forehead and a shaky hand lifts, grazing across his skin to a scar that he doesn't remember. A scar like that doesn't happen overnight, he can feel the subtle marks where stitches held the wound together before they were removed.

It's at least a couple weeks old, to be that well healed.

His confusion starts to make entirely too much sense as the beeping of his heart monitor accelerates.

"Son?—"

"How long have I been here?" He asks, trying harder to sit up, hands scrabbling against the sheets until his IV yanks in his arm, painful enough for him to temporarily give up, tentatively flopping against the reclined bed.

"Calm down," his father urges, hand landing on a shoulder that feels too extraordinarily bony, even for him.

"How long have I been here?" Hiccup repeats the question, clearing his throat for what feels like the millionth time. His dad gets the hint, offering him a cup of water.

"Almost…almost three weeks." The words knock the wind out of his chest as the room goes silent, spinning around him.

Three weeks?

He…That means that he missed his—

"Dammit, I sounded like a crazy person earlier when I said I was seventeen." He laments, wiping a hand slowly across his forehead. "Now they're really going to have me committed."

"No one thinks you're crazy."

"I…what kind of accident?" He asks, and his father sighs.

"There's something—well, you see, it's difficult to say…" Hiccup doesn't understand, his father keeps glancing towards his feet. He wiggles his toes again, the scratchy sheets shifting against his right foot.

Is his left foot not under the covers? Why isn't it cold?

"Just a second, my foot's uncovered," he lurches forward, too heavy head swinging laboriously around to look at his feet.

"No, wait," his father urges him a second too late as he settles back against the bed with a near silent groan.

At the bottom of the bed, he can see the outline of his right foot, predictably surrounded by shadows and shrouding sheets. He wiggles the toes, watches them move underneath the blankets. It's so incredibly normal, that it makes even less sense when his eyes scan to the left, fruitlessly searching the smooth expanse of bed.

He can see his knee, he can even bend it, although it feels impossibly heavy. He can see the too small muscles in his thigh flexing underneath the covers, the mountain of his knee rising and catching what must be bandages on the sheets.

It tapers off to nothing a hands length below his knee, the _foot_ of the bed mockingly smooth.

His foot is gone. It's not there.

It's…gone. It's…he doesn't have a foot.

Hiccup gapes at the spot, turning to face his father wide eyed and open mouthed. His lips open and close silently a few times as he leans back onto the bed, controlled motion collapsing with his muscles' exhaustion.

"Son, it's—"

"I'm going to take another nap," Hiccup announces calmly. This is a joke. This is just some cruel joke, and if he goes to sleep, everything will be fine by the time that he wakes up.

It's just a dream.

His father is still talking, and the frantic baritone is oddly calming as his eyes shut, pillow too comfortable to be real as he relaxes, drifting away again.

It's just a really bad dream.

00000

Astrid runs through the parking garage, legs almost too sore for her speed as she tears around a corner, slowing to an awkward power walk through the automatic doors.

He's awake. He's awake.

The words echo in the back of her mind like a mantra, thrilling and terrifying her in equal parts.

She powerwalks down the tile hallway with her head down, hoping that no nurse notices her and reminds her of approved visiting hours. A hand shoots seemingly out of nowhere, grabbing her arm, and she whirls around, fist ready until she sees Hiccup's father.

He lets go of her arm and she steps back, unfurling her reflexive fist and staring at him with too wide eyes.

"He's…" She starts, trailing off with her the sheer magnitude of her thoughts.

"He's asleep right now," her eyes cloud with terror. He can't have gone back under? Without her seeing him? That's too terrible of a thought for her to contemplate, and her chest feels tight. "Just asleep. He's…it's been a big day."

"I should have been here," she snaps too loudly, forcing her voice to quiet down as she reaches up, cradling her head before she explodes.

"You've been here every day," he comforts her and she glares at him, "You won regionals, that's something to be excited about." He congratulates her, smiling and exhausted. She shakes off the praise, staring at her toes.

"I should have been here." She repeats, "I should have been her to explain everything, no one else was there."

"No one has explained anything yet," the man continues, a comforting hand landing on Astrid's shoulder. She doesn't shrug it off. "He's only been fully conscious twice, but he's been mumbling all day."

"Is he…" She starts, before running a hand back through her hectic ponytail, yanking frustrated. "Is he still _him_? Because I keep on hearing these horror stories where people wake up and they're _different_…and he—Just, is he still…?"

"Oh, he's…Hiccup alright." His dad mumbles the nickname with a hint of descriptive sarcasm, and Astrid can't help but smile.

"I'm going to go see him," she turns away, determined and inappropriately nervous as she turns to leave. Gerard says something to her back that she doesn't bother to listen to as she resumes her mad dash down the hallway, head down and determined.

Every vision flashing through her mind involves running up to the bed and _grabbing _him. She can see herself telling him how much she loves him, and kissing him until it hurts. But when she finally gets down the hallway she stops, feet unnaturally heavy as she opens the door, leaning on the doorframe.

The room feels different, despite the paralyzingly familiar whir and beep of machines. The bed is in a half reclined position and Hiccup's hand is flopped across his stomach, the pose wonderfully emotive. His face is still pale, but less waxy, his nostrils twitching unevenly as he snores.

She freezes, staring as her chest tightens to the point of pain.

It's been maybe a minute when he twitches, eyes opening terrifyingly slowly in the half-light of the room. Her heart beats insanely fast, rattling her ribcage like a drum as she watches his long eyelashes blink and flutter.

His chin rocks towards her, head moving stiffly on his skinny neck.

"Astrid?" He rasps, voice clouded and strange in his throat.

"Hi Hiccup," She answers quietly, eyes itching as embarrassing tears flood her vision. She blinks them away, face splitting into a grin. "You're awake," she mutters obviously, and he laughs, the sound painful and raw.

"Thanks for pointing that out," he jokes, and the tears flood forward with a horribly misplaced sob as Astrid's face crumples into happy, disgusting tears. She has the presence of mind to step fully inside, shutting the door behind her as she frantically wipes her face, glaring at her tears as she nearly chokes on a second wet sob.

Hiccup is entirely sure he's insane now. Astrid doesn't visit him in the middle of the night, and she definitely doesn't _cry_.

"Don't _cry_," he urges quietly and she glares at him, eyes wet and dripping.

"I'm just…I've been waiting _forever_."

"I'm sorry?" He blinks hard, shifting in his seat.

"It's not…it was just a long time." She admits, cautiously stepping forward and sitting in her chair, tantalizingly close to his wonderfully expressive face. He wrinkles his nose, quirks an eyebrow, mouth twitching to the side.

"Almost three weeks…right?" He asks, furrowing his eyebrows. She wants to kiss them, but she bites her lip at his uncertain tone.

"Yeah, I wanted…I wanted to be here," she mumbles, crossing her legs, "But, I mean, I—" She sobs again, a startled hiccough in her throat.

"It's…it's fine," she shouldn't be crying. He hates it more than he should, misery pooling in his chest along with the confusion. "I honestly don't really remember _much_ from today." His voice is thick, rough, and she wants to _fix_ it.

"Has anyone, erm…filled you in?" She asks, shrugging as she wraps her arms around herself. "They said you might be a little groggy…"

"Groggy is right," his hand curls on his stomach and she grabs her own wrist, preventing herself from reaching out and _touching_ him.

"Do you remember anything from when you were _under_?" She doesn't know what she wants the answer to be. The bold half of her wants to tell him that she loves him to his face, confident and assured. The other half, the newly discovered half, is paralyzed by the thought.

What if it's too much?

"No," he shakes his head, neck trembling slightly. "I—it hurts to think about it." His hand lifts up, touching his forehead and rubbing lightly.

"Do you—what can I tell you?" She offers, glancing towards his foot. He hasn't mentioned it yet.

God, she hopes he knows. That'd be a cruel piece of luck to leave it to her to tell him.

"My foot is gone," he mutters, mostly to himself as his eyes squint shut, pained and confused.

"It is," she tries to remember what it felt like when his foot was the worst part of this.

"I—I can feel it…my big toe itches." He covers his face with his hands, wiping his cheeks slowly. "Sorry, I shouldn't be dumping this," he mutters and she shakes her head, urging him to keep talking.

"It's fine, really."

"My head isn't right," she can't tell whether he's continuing or making an excuse and she stays silent, "I…there are flashes of things, and…my foot is _gone_." He shakes his head, "It just doesn't seem real. But it…" He thinks hard, wiggles his left toes and dreams of the feeling of sheets. "And now you're here, and I can't tell if it's real, and if it is, I don't know why."

"We're…friends," she titles their relationship delicately, hands gripping the edge of his mattress and yearning for his fingers wrapped in hers, "Why wouldn't I be here?"

"Why do I remember pumpkins, and the shelter—the shelter. Did we get anyone adopted?" His expression is pained as he tries to think, brain throbbing angrily against the inside of his skull. Astrid sighs, biting her lip and reaching out, grabbing his hand and gently lacing her fingers through his.

He stares at her, confused and oddly grateful as she strokes a shaking thumb across the back of his fingers. The world whirls around the solidity in her grip and he focuses, small sight window endlessly easier to comprehend.

This feels…familiar. Or not dangerous anyway. He can still remember the shed on the back of his property and how forbidden her hand felt in his. Exciting, wonderfully exciting, but forbidden. He furrows his eyebrow, staring at her golden hand in his and speaking slowly.

"You…After the state meet, you broke up with Scott…and you came to my house—"

"And I kissed you. Is that a good place to start explaining?" She asks, shocked and pleased by her own gentle tone as she stares at their hands.

"You kissed me?" He asks, but he doesn't need to, with the way his lips tingle wildly at the memory. He feels his toes curl and flinches, frowning at the phantom sensations.

This is all so surreal, it makes him brave.

"Yes. Is that where I should start explaining?" She repeats her question, less gentle, but still far less hostile than she could be. She still considers it a success, scooting her chair slightly closer to the bed and resting her elbow on the edge of the mattress.

"Yeah," he nods, squeezing her hand and staring at her lack of response, confused and amazed. Flashes of sparking punches blur across his thoughts, inarticulate and mysterious.

"So, Friday night, I showed up at your house at around one, I think, and I kissed you." The words are still oddly thrilling and she squelches the feeling, refusing to be an unreliable narrator. "And you didn't kiss me back—"

"I thought you were deranged," he recalls, brows furrowed as he thinks too hard. She rubs his hand, shooting him a look.

"Let me tell this, stop thinking so hard. You look like your head is going to explode." He nods before letting his head rest back against the pillow, staring at her too intently. Something about the dim light of the room is absolutely disarming, and she sighs, wiping her face with her free hand and continuing. "Anyway, I left. The next morning I showed up after my run to go to the shelter, and of course you weren't awake yet."

"I'm oversleeping world champion now," he laughs lightly, and Astrid smiles at the sound, "three weeks has to be a record."

"You weren't particularly happy with me that morning, I think you were embarrassed. Then again, I wasn't too happy with you either."

"Is that why you're here? Because you were mad when the _accident _happened, and you felt bad?" He tries to tug his hand away, but the motion is shockingly feeble. She holds tight and frowns at him.

"Are you going to let me tell this?"

"Ok, ok," he coughs and she glances towards the full pitcher on the side table.

"Do you need water?" She asks and he nods, looking down. "Tell me these things." She stands, dropping his hand and pouring him a cup of water. When she tries to hold it up to his lips, glares at her, taking the cup and spilling a drip on his lap before he wrangles it to his mouth, chugging ravenously. He hands the cup back to her and she sets it on the table, handing him a napkin.

"Thanks." She takes the damp paper towel back when he's done with it, dropping it in the trash can and leaning forward, reclaiming his hand. He startles, staring at her, and she grins.

"So. The adoption event actually went really well," she tells him, "Fishlegs took home that ancient diabetic Rottweiler? Scruffy was it? And, well, we were brilliant. By the end of the day we had all but for adopted out…well, five I guess. I took Spike home."

"Good," Hiccup answers reflexively, coughing at his own emphatic tone.

"Well, it was, I scared the shit out of my dad, but that's later." He opens his mouth to keep talking and she reaches out, shushing him. "You're a horrible audience." He shrugs.

"I try."

"Ok. Back to the actual plot," she shakes her head, "So, Saturday, towards the end of the day, I asked you to help me get stuff for Spike. And well, we talked a bit, and I told you I was sorry for overreacting, and you told me that you had no idea what you were doing, and that was well…sealed."

"Sealed?" She can't decide whether it's pathetic to mention a hug in a story like this. Probably, but Hiccup might like to hear this. Anything to _distract_ him.

"You hugged me," he grins stupidly, and she wonders why he's not dwelling on his leg. If her spinning this story can keep his mind off of it for even a few minutes, it's worth it. "And then, well, I decided that we should hang out after we got Spike's things, and you…you decided that we should carve pumpkins." She smiles at the memory, looking up at him. "And looking back, I'm pretty sure that it was a date, and you're just a cheater who didn't _ask_."

"You say cheater, I say smart."

"You're wrong." This is horribly sappy, and she hopes beyond hope that it stays that way. "Anyway, we ended up kissing again, and I fell asleep on you." She can see his face heat up even in the dark and his eyebrows twitch. "Do you remember that part?"

"When we woke up, my dad found Toothless…and then you came back and…" The gloom settles over them like a thick blanket and she sighs.

"I went for a run, and saw that the shelter was being demolished early." His pulse picks up in his hand as he frowns at their intertwined fingers. "And by the time I got back, Toothless was gone. We left your house to go to the shelter, because the four dogs, and Spike were still inside." She squeezes his hand back, continuing in a quiet methodical voice. It's like a bedtime horror story. "I ran inside to let them out, while you went to go get Toothless. I don't really know what happened on your end, but your dad might, if it doesn't…come back." She offers delicately, and he nods.

Her own heart rate is starting to pick up, talking about this, and she steels herself, leaning over and taking a sip of water out of the pitcher, wiping her chin dry with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

Someone turns off a light above the hallway, and they both jump at the darkness.

Astrid gulps and continues, focusing on a speck on the sheets.

"You came in after me when I didn't come out, because I'd run into that dog fighting criminal." She gasps, there's suddenly not enough air in the room. She looks over her shoulder, triple checking for anyone in the hallway and leaning in closer. "You found me, and well, Toothless and Spike, _took care_ of him."

It's too silent, completely stifling even, and Hiccup chews on his lower lip, melting into the mattress nearly bonelessly. Fatigue blooms in his still addled brain and he closes his eyes, tethered to reality by Astrid's small warm hand in his.

"Keep going."

"We can finish some other time—"

"It's fine. I know what's coming." His left foot tickles, and he wants to cry.

`We ran, but…but I left you behind," she admits, her hand going slack in his.

"I—I didn't get out. I remember…dark." He finishes, and she nods, sighing quietly.

"Now, we're at the part that you can't fill in." She lets herself detach from the situation, voice hollow. "You and I rode the ambulance to the hospital. Your dad took Toothless to the vet, and he's ok. They took off his numb leg, ironically." He grins sardonically, and she rests her forehead against the edge of his bed. "I've been taking care of him. He's…well, he misses you. He resents me sometimes, and is clingy the rest of the time. He and your dad don't know what to think of each other." No matter how awful this is, he's so wonderfully alive. "You were…unresponsive. They rushed you into surgery, and I didn't hear anything until hours later. And by then…_it_ was done."

She mumbles through this part, head slipping forward on the mattress until her face is resting on their conjoined hands. He keeps his eyes on her head, even though this is when he's supposed to look at his leg.

He doesn't want to look at his leg. He doesn't want to focus on it, he's…

"What about you?" He asks, and she looks up at him, frowning.

"Why would we talk about that right now?"

"Because I'm asking," she sighs, standing and pouring him another cup of water, standing watch and thinking while he drinks it. She chugs her own glass and sits back down, reclaiming that now warm hand.

"I guess—God, this all feels like a million years ago." What if he's upset? What if he doesn't _want_ her around? "They—I was—" She sighs, resting her chin on the edge of the mattress and clacking her teeth together, frustrated. "Short story, I'm legally in the foster care of your father." She finally blurts, and his hand twitches in hers, delightfully _alive_.

His hand glides up to his forehead, rubbing silently at the fading pink scar and she chews on her lower lip.

"I think I'm hearing things," he mumbles, and she sighs. He was feeling better, puzzle pieces tumbling together in his mind, but now he's overwhelmed, exhausted.

"This is all too much. Isn't it?"

"No?" He fights the heavy lull of his eyelids, blinking at her. This can't be real, no one looks that insanely beautiful when they've been crying.

"I should let you sleep." She stands up, his arm hanging limp from her hand even as his fingers clench down tighter, shaking at the effort.

"Right, because I haven't slept in minutes," he snaps, and the predictable anger swells into tenderness as she sets his hand gently on the bed, reverent of its wiry vitality.

"I'll come back in the morning, ok?" She offers, and his eyes open, staring at her like she's important. "If you promise to wake up." He's been napping all day, brain activity maintaining a steady, comforting vibration, but the terror of him slipping away silently in the night threatens to overcome her.

"Stay?" The word echoes softly and she exhales, breath shaky through the ball of emotions lulled in her throat.

"I can stay." She sits back down, reclaiming his hand, ignoring the clammy sweat between her fingers.

"I just…I don't want to wake up alone—"

"You don't have to explain. I'm staying, ok?" She mumbles, her chin finding the familiar edge of his bed. "I love you." The last three words escape as an unintended whisper, falling upon deaf sleeping ears.

00000

**Ok, warning, long author's note, for those who are interested. **

**First, I'm sorry for not getting this up last Friday, but hey, it needed some work. **

**Second, I've been doing some research about amputation, and it's led me to take a different direction on this scene, and I thought I'd share the information:**

**Amputees frequently wake up in a state of disbelief, and there's a recurring theme of doing their best to ignore the situation. Frequently, the first response is amicable and accepting, the anger and embarrassment hitting later. **

**In massive studies of up to 60,000 amputees, there's a recurring theme in the psychology of the happiest and most functional group…people that rely on self-deprecating humor and exercise ingenuity in their everyday lives. No shit, I kid you not. Dreamworks has their shit together. **

**Anyway, I'm basing this scene, and the continuing information on quite a bit of research, so I promise, I'm tending as close to reality as possible, even if it's veering away from the classical fanfiction interpretation of amputation! This is also coming from a prosthetics engineer, who totally geeks out over this stuff…**

**Anyway, I really really hope that this lives up to expectations. A little happy, a little fluffy…a lot well, emotive, I hope. Please oh please tell me what you guys think. And I'm getting going on the next installment presently! **


	35. Chapter 35

**Ok, so more recovery…more puzzle pieces falling into place…and some other stuff. **

00000

Astrid can't remember the last time she was this uncomfortable. She blinks slowly, sitting up and cringing at the stabbing ache in her lower back. She reaches up to wipe her eyes, not bothering to free her left hand from whatever it's tangled in as she looks bleary eyed around the room. Her hand twitches without her permission and her head whips around, making slow sense of the too pale fingers gripping hers tightly.

He's snoring.

She can't help but grin when she hears the delicate chainsaw purr, sitting up and delicately stretching her neck.

And she thought sleeping with Scott after a race was awful.

Letting go of his twitching hand seems like a crime and she leans down, whimpering as she stretches her back, seam at the top of her jeans digging into the sore skin of her waist. Her abs protest the movement and she sits back in her chair, scooting it closer with a too loud squawk of rubber feet on the tile.

Hiccup shifts and mumbles, and her eyes itch, forcing her to blink away more of those horribly happy tears. His fingers squeeze hers and she responds, tickling his palm.

"Mrph," he groans, nose wrinkling as his eyes squint shut and flutter open, flinching away from the sunrise light trickling through the blinds. His head flops unevenly in her direction, and she wishes she'd thought to lay his bed back flat the night before.

"Good morning to you too," she croaks, throat shockingly raspy as she reaches over to his bedside table, pouring a glass of water and chugging it. She refills the cup, waiting for him to need it.

"Morning?" He coughs, stomach clenching and bouncing him against the pillow. She holds the cup of water up to his mouth and he drinks, hearty swallows tugging the cup against her fingertips. He drains it, and she pulls it away, setting it down with a clunk. "Still feels like last night." He blinks, squinting hard and rolling his neck slowly.

"My back says it's morning," she idly complains, voice light as she shifts in her chair, stretching her side with a muffled whine. He stares at her, mind churning impossibly slowly compared to its usual measured blur, and she blushes, feeling _studied_. His eyes on her aren't exactly unpleasant, but the deep searching is unfamiliarly charged. "What?"

"You actually stayed." He furrows his eyebrows at her like it's mysterious, and she shrugs.

"I'm shocked you remember asking."

"You're hard to forget," he fidgets, voice disembodied and honest, the unmistakable rasping of his bandaged leg against the covers sobering. "This is all kind of unforgettable." He mumbles, and they both glance at his _foot_ before resuming comparatively safe eye contact. Hiccup never thought he'd live to see a day where it's easier to stare deeply into Astrid Hofferson's deep ocean eyes than look at his own two feet.

Foot. Whatever.

This should be…slapping him more. It should be more awful, more shocking, more horrible…but it's really just a fact right now. He lost three weeks, and a foot, and now he's here and he has to make the best of it. Maybe it will hit him when he tries to stand, when his internal equilibrium tries to adjust to the completely obvious loss of a ten pound foot.

But somehow he thinks that he might just be able to handle it. He doesn't let his fore-thinking mind wander down the hallway, doesn't let himself think about navigating stairs and hills.

One step at a time.

Or is it one-_half_ step at a time? He smiles to himself, feeling a little crazy and unsure whether crazy is bad or not.

"What are you laughing about?" Astrid asks, half glad to see his smile, and half terrified that he's finally cracked.

"My brain feels better…kind of." He shakily pushes himself away from the recliner, unreasonably proud when he sits up straight, spine stretching deliciously with the motion. She leans forward, pushing him back with nervous fingers on his bony shoulders, earning herself a glare for ruining his success.

"And that's funny?" His glare deepens as he starts to sit up again, and she holds him back cautiously. "Can we wait for a doctor before you start walk—moving around?" She corrects herself awkwardly, sitting back in her seat and trying again to pop her neck.

"You have no room to talk, I've never seen you sit still for five minutes," she pulls a face at him and he laughs, coughing.

"More water?" She asks, and he nods, accepting the cup that she hands him. He drains it, fingers smoothing over the rim as he stares through the warped clear plastic base. Astrid reaches out then pulls back, thinking twice about taking the cup from his lap.

"What time is it?" He looks at the clock on the wall, numbers swirling uncomfortably before he gives up with a frown.

"7:45," she offers, smoothing her watch onto her wrist, rubbing the deep indent where it had pressed through the night. "They'll be around with breakfast soon." His stomach growls audibly at the suggestion and they both laugh. Astrid pushes her bangs behind her ear, and the motion draws Hiccup's seemingly spastic eyes. "A little bit hungry there?"

"Yeah," he blinks, right foot shifting until he can hang it off of the bed, wiggling his toes. Moving feels wonderful, like dusting a filthy room, and he sighs, shifting his hips a couple of inches, breathing embarrassingly hard from the effort.

"So fidgety."

"I have a lot of fidgeting to catch up on," he folds his arms behind his head, stretching in a way that makes his ribcage stand out in stark relief against the generic white wall. Astrid frowns, biting her cheek and forcing her tone _normal_.

"And eating too."

"And the nagging," he jokes, and she glares at him.

"I'm just trying to help."

"I know," he shrugs, the motion exhausting and exhilarating. "I'm not used to you being so _nice_."

Astrid wrinkles her nose, hugging herself loosely and thumbing the seam at the bottom of her jacket. She guesses that's true, she is being awfully _nice_, but it doesn't seem like a bad thing.

Maybe she should do the selfish thing and blurt 'I love you,' that wouldn't be a particularly nice way to wake up, would it? Continuing the determined onslaught to flip his already confusing worldview upside down.

"I figure it's only right that you get a free pass while you're hospitalized."

"You haven't punched me in eons, I think the bruise on my arm actually _healed_." He glances down at his bicep—or the place where his bicep would go if it still existed—and looks up at her with mock excitement. Her hand balls into a loose fist and knocks against his arm with exaggerated slowness.

"Happy?"

"I didn't say I _wanted_ you to punch me."

"Ugh, now I'm remembering why I started punching you in the first place," she snaps, tired and grouchy, and Hiccup smiles.

"There. I was wondering who the imposter was," he settles back down, seemingly pacified by her outburst.

"And I thought you'd be glad to have someone be nice to you." Hiccup shakes his head.

"You know me, glutton for punishment." Their eyes both flick back to his feet and Astrid sighs, broaching the difficult topic because obviously, he's not going to do it.

"Has anyone…have you seen it yet?" She mumbles, and he looks at her wide eyed, then back to the base of the bed.

"I..." He searches for something cheeky left in the swirling recesses of his still too slow mind, and settles for shaking his head, eyes focusing on an errant freckle scattered onto Astrid's sharp cheekbone. She lost weight too, or maybe that's just what happens when she doesn't eat for 12 hours.

Like a gremlin, or something.

Don't underfeed her, or she'll unleash her inner she-beast and stab you with her cheekbones.

His brain totters off track, and he struggles to pull himself back into the moment, staring at his foot and trying to remember why the blunt space is a problem. Right. It hasn't always been like that. He wiggles his nonexistent toes, frowning and struggling with the waves of complex weakness that surge around his head. Astrid resists the urge to grab his hand.

She's not used to seeing him think so hard.

"Do—should I…?" She stands up, walking to the foot of the bed and taking the edge of the blanket into her grip, looking at him cautiously. Is it like taking off a Band-Aid? Or something that should be done more gracefully?

"I think I've seen enough of my own inferiority for this morning," he mumbles, staring at the stark webbing of his too skeletal hands. He looks at the clock, trying to reason how much time he has left until a nurse will rescue him from the awkwardness with breakfast in hand, but the hands on the dial make no sense.

He wonders how many things fell out of his head.

Words seem normal, he can read the signs on the wall, and already knows far too much about the hospital's obligations, but the numbers blur together, swirling illogically.

"You aren't inferior." Astrid snaps, glaring at him fiercely. "Jesus Hiccup, you didn't use your brain for three weeks and you woke up with more than your drooling skills intact. That's further than most people get." It sounds horribly crude and she breaks eye contact, staring at the end of his shortened leg. She wonders if it _hurts_, but is too out of her element to ask.

"Can we just—"

"You're going to have to look at it sometime." She glances back up at him, her own morbid curiosity building in her throat like confrontation. She hasn't seen it since Thursday, and after weeks of making sure she was there to watch it heal, two days feels like an eternity. "And I figured you might do better…well in private." It occurs to her that while she has had weeks to come around to the idea of her taking care of him, no one has bothered to tell him about it. She blushes and scratches behind her ear.

Is this what it feels like to be Hiccup? To be one step ahead of everyone else in the room? She remembers hating how he always knew what was going on, but now she wishes he'd jump in and explain everything so that she doesn't have to.

"No offense, but you being here is the opposite of private."

"That's awesome," she snaps, sarcastic, grinning sardonically. "That's _exactly_ what I wanted to hear. Great." For the first time, Hiccup realizes how frustrating sarcasm can be when it's coming from someone else.

"What?" Astrid sneers at the question, flushing as she steps back, crossing her arms. "Why are you so—"

"So _what_?" She asks, throwing her hands up, "This is—this has been a long three weeks." She deflates, shoulders sagging. Staying mad at him right now is seemingly impossible, the combination of her too full chest and his pale face equal parts emotionally stifling and enlightening.

"What am I missing now?" He asks quietly.

"Do you remember what I said about well…" Why is this so hard to say? In another life she would just _blurt_ it out. She spins around, staring at the wall, or anything other than those brilliant green eyes that disturb her mental state. "Your dad's my—I volunteered—" She starts twice, failing miserably as frustration builds in her still impatient mind. All of this roots from two simple facts, and she can't talk about either.

Her dad. Hiccup.

Horrible hate, and confusing _love_.

Her own fear is disgusting, and she snarls, she's never been _timid_.

She whirls around. "I love you."

"What?—"

The door opens, and Janet enters, a tray with a bowl of oatmeal and a pudding cup balanced on her arm.

"Astrid, you're here awfully early today." She comments, smiling at a slack-jawed Hiccup. "But it's probably a bit more interesting with someone to talk to." The tray lands across the boy's lap with a quiet clank, and he flops back against the reclining upper half of his bed. "Good morning, Henry. You're looking more awake," She smiles and he glances at Astrid, heart pounding too fast in his chest before looking back at the nurse.

"Feeling more awake," he mumbles and she smiles, pulling a spoon from the pocket of her scrubs and setting it on the tray.

"The doctor is going to be in after you manage to have some breakfast. Then we can get you off the nutrient drip and you should start feeling a lot better." She bustles around the bed, checking his temperature and pulse, while he furrows his eyebrows, staring at the bowl.

He's crazy. He's in an insane asylum, not the hospital. His dad took Toothless, and he went insane.

His stomach growls and he operates on autopilot, picking up the spoon with too weak fingers and bringing a spoonful of bland sweet oatmeal to his mouth. His stomach gurgles uneasily around the food and he sets down the spoon, swallowing thickly.

"Take your time," Janet urges at Hiccup's nauseous expression, "Someone will be back to check on you two in a few minutes, I've got to deliver these results to the doctor." She writes something in a clipboard hanging at the foot of his bed, tears off a carbon copy sheet and leaves the room with a quiet click of the latch.

Astrid juts her chin out defiantly, walking around the bed to sit back on her chair, arms crossed in front of her.

"You should eat," she urges him, daring him to bring up what she just said. He stares at her, gulping slightly, like he's facing down an escaped tiger.

"So now I'm just going to eat?" He asks, clearing his throat when his voice cracks. "That's the plan?"

"It's breakfast time."

"Are you seriously—You…you…y—"

"I what?" Astrid asks, tugging her knees onto the chair and flinching as her exhausted quadriceps complain.

"You love…you? Love?" He stutters, and she sighs, burying her face in her hands. This is exhausting.

"I love you." It's easier to say the second time, more of a fact and less of a revelation, the words leaving a relieved taste on the back of her tongue. At least he knows. The more that Hiccup knows, the closer that the world feels to falling back into place. He sets his spoon down on the tray, cocking his head and thinking way too hard, headache in his forehead returning with a vengeance. She looks up at him, narrowing her eyes. "Eat your freaking breakfast!" He needs to eat, he needs to get better, and she directs her illogical anger towards his lack of appetite.

"Umm, I'm not exactly hungry _now_," his voice rises dangerously in pitch and he clears his throat before he starts attracting dogs.

"You need to eat," she crosses her arms.

"I think we should probably talk, or some—"

"What is there to talk about?"

"Umm, how about twenty days and the fact that you lov—don't make sense." Hiccup snaps and Astrid sighs.

"I'll make a deal. For every bite you take, I'll tell you _something_."

"Something?" He asks, her face fuzzier in his vision than it should be. His chest aches from the frantic pounding of his heart over the last few minutes.

"Something. We…You…" She wipes a hand over her face, sighing frustrated. "When did your freakish stuttering rub off on me?" She mumbles and exhales, exhausted. "You've missed a couple things. Obviously. I'll talk while you eat, then you can ask questions and fill in the rest of the gaps." She offers and Hiccup mulls the idea over, picking up his spoon and taking a small bite, swallowing thickly around the bland paste.

"Start talking."

"Hmm…Toothless is ok." Bite. "He actually had his leg operated on as well…he likes not wearing the harness anymore." Hiccup thinks about saying something, his mouth opens halfway before Astrid's look silences him. He takes another bite. "I signed at CU."

"That's great," he makes a show of garbling his words over a mouthful of cereal, and Astrid rolls her eyes.

He wonders if he feels lucky or terrified.

"It's easy." She pauses, watching him swallow and go for another spoonful. "Your dad asked me to stay with you when he's gone. I figured you might be more ok with that than some nurse." He nods, gulping another bite and forcing the paste down his throat. "That was before the foster _drama_. It's so stupid, I'm seventeen, they're a little late to play _hero_." She sneers, and shakes her head, wandering off track as she stares at the wall, doing her best to ignore his penetrating green eyes. "Anyway. I'm in the room next to yours for the moment." She sighs. "I'll find somewhere else if you really don't want me to…be around." Taking care of him sounds wrong; it's just…helping him as much as he helped her.

Just because he wasn't there for a lot of the help he gave, or because a lot of it was annoying and unintentional doesn't mean that she's not counting it. It doesn't matter how _soft_ she feels, how disgustingly warm his blazing emerald gaze heats her chest, Astrid refuses to owe anyone anything.

"It's…" He starts, before taking another bite. He's sick of searching for words that don't float to the tip of his tongue like they used to. "I don't want a nurse. At least you don't think…yeah." She looks at him questioningly and he shrugs. "You act the same…I imagine most people won't." He mumbles and she shrugs, smiling sadly.

"Oh _God_," she groans, head falling into her hands as she flinches back from his impending reaction. "I _botched_ our presentation. I…it was horrible, I freaked out and ended up telling the entire class that I loved you." The third time is even easier, sliding off her tongue like butter. She laughs miserably. "And I told everyone to call you Henry, and I still haven't heard the end of it. I don't know how badly we failed yet." He can't help but laugh at that, and she joins in, shaking slightly and hugging her knees.

"I hate hospital food." She continues, watching his Adam's apple bob with his next labored swallow. "The next milk carton I see is going to get…murdered. And the coffee, holy shit the coffee. It smells like toasted dog crap." He grins at the analogy, taking another obedient bite when she looks dis direction.

She's _unhinged_ definitely, but there's the imprint of hinges that have always been missing from her unbalanced frame.

"I won the regional meet. That's where I was yesterday." Her voice falls away from the rhythm of his swallows as her eyes drift to the monitor hanging on the opposite wall, following the delightfully steady bump of his heart. "Ruff and Fishlegs visited a couple of times. I think Fish was here for you, but Ruff was here to make sure I still saw the sun. Your dad likes Spike, I caught them cuddling on the couch the other day." She blabbers, shoulders shrugging towards her ears as she glances at his emptying bowl. He takes another pointed bite and she sags into her seat. "Toothless resents me. He misses you." She laughs, resting her head back against the familiar chair, grinning. "Ruff wanted to help me sneak him in, but I didn't want to risk getting banned.

"You probably would have rather woken up to Toothless. I should have listened. She had some decent strategies…Apparently he looks kind of like her grandma…" She trails off, her own voice echoing in her head, annoying and uncharacteristically loaded.

_I love you_.

Who says it like that, anyway? Of all the words in the English language, all the wonderful, emotive, exacting words she could have used, she stuck with the eight letter standby. Simultaneously making her bed and tearing her clothes off prematurely. She feels naked, in one of the most negative ways she can imagine as she runs through every impossible reaction.

He hasn't freaked out yet. Then again, the last thing he wants right now is a broken arm.

"I don't remember waking up at all, honestly." He admits, pushing the tray across his knees and flinching when it bumps against the top of his remarkably compressive bandage. Astrid looks up, his sharp inhale disconcerting.

"No pudding?" She asks, unfolding and leaning forward, grabbing the tray and placing it on the table beside her. She picks up the pudding cup and his spoon, stirring the chocolate goo with a too pensive expression.

"It's a texture thing," he wrinkles his nose, and she laughs, taking a heaping bite of the dessert.

"Of course it is."

"I'm glad you didn't try and smuggle Toothless in. He hates tile." Hiccup starts, staring at his uneven feet, letting the sight sear into his retinas. "He skids around and freaks out, growling at the walls."

"I think I know how that feels."

"I doubt Toothless resents you," It's hard, talking about his best friend in the too clean hospital room. He imagines the coarse warm fur under his fingers, stifling a yawn at the overwhelming and comforting thought.

"He…it's been hard." Astrid admits with a forcibly nonchalant shrug, trying to fend the weight of the situation from landing on her tired shoulders.

How is it only eight fifteen in the morning? It feels like she's been up for hours.

"Are you and my dad getting along?" Hiccup asks, and Astrid shrugs, smiling to herself.

"We've got enough in common." She doesn't bother mentioning desperation and necessity.

"Sports?"

"You." She blurts, painfully honest, and he blushes, silence settling like an awkward blanket.

Astrid hates the limbo, somewhere between crushed and elated, and part of her craves the predictability of her relationship with Scott. She always knew what he'd say, never wondered where anything was going.

He couldn't _hurt_ her.

"I probably missed the baby picture embarrassment, didn't I?" Hiccup mumbles, wiping his hand over his face and Astrid laughs, caught off guard.

"No baby pictures…yet," she teases, leaning too far forward and nudging him in the ribs. It's like grade-school, and she wonders when exactly the hitting became something more. "But I know what I'm asking to see later."

"No! I have to be there to explain myself," he insists, laughing and fiddling with the edge of his comforter.

"I'll ask once you're home then," she amends and he glances over at her, serious.

"Do you er…know when that might be?" He laughs, "I'm surprised you're not insane, I'm already sick of this wall." He gestures ahead of him and she shrugs.

"Soon. Your umm…your _leg_ is good to go home, but you need the outpatient evaluation for the…" she trails off, tapping herself on the forehead.

"So they need to test if I'm crazy?"

"No one thinks you're crazy," she snaps, "they just have to make sure that you aren't going to _relapse_." The last word is a resonating mumble, and he sighs.

"I'm not going to—"

"You better not." She threatens, and he has to smile.

"So, you missed me, huh?" She can't bring herself to hate his cocky tone as she leans back forward, tapping her fist against his arm. His hand is shaking more than earlier when he reaches up, grabbing her wrist and tentatively wrapping narrow fingers around her palm. She blushes and scoots her chair closer, getting comfortable.

"Little bit," her entire body feels too warm, like she's sitting too close to a bonfire.

"Astrid?" He starts and she looks at him expectantly, chewing on her lower lip. His eyes flick to his feet and her mouth, and she can see the geared down revolution of his still groggy mind. "It's—"

The door swings open yet again, and they lurch apart, hands tightening together as Hiccup's sometimes doctor walks into the room, glancing through a file and stopping at the foot of his bed.

"How are you doing today, Henry?" He asks and Hiccup shrugs, fingers tightening around Astrid's hand.

"Overwhelmed," he admits, and the doctor nods. Astrid slowly lets go of his hand and leans back, letting the doctor have Hiccup's full attention.

"Don't stop on my account," the doctor laughs. "If my teenagers supported each other like you two do, I wouldn't be paying for military school." He chuckles too wholeheartedly, and the two teens stare at him blankly.

Hiccup re-grasps her hand.

Astrid wonders how many people Janet has shared her _suspicions_ with.

"He's family," Astrid tests him, earning a confused glance that she answers with a beatific smile.

"Anyway, overwhelmed. That's perfectly normal." He makes a note and looks at Hiccup, resting his hand on the boy's short leg and pressing lightly in a completely disconcerting way. It feels like his shoe is unbearably tight, like his foot is utterly asleep. He wiggles his toes and they feel cramped as his brain starts to ache, processing the foreign sensation. "Any pain?"

"No?" He mumbles, his concentration devoted to not jerking his leg away from the invasive feeling. "It's not comfortable though."

"Alright," Hiccup visibly relaxes when the doctor steps back, approaching and shining a light into his mercifully equal pupils. "How does your head feel?" The lump of scar tissue under the man's thumb feels utterly foreign pressing against his skull and he blinks, flinching from the light.

"Slow," Astrid keeps his hand in hers even as he tries to pull back, folding in on himself.

The leg he can fathom, but if anything is wrong with his head…

"Anything missing? Anything confusing?" He asks, perching on the side of the mattress and Hiccup shrugs, staring at the clock.

"I can't…I can't read the clock right," he admits, flinching away from the swirling numbers. Astrid squeezes his fingers and he grits his teeth. "And I'm _missing_ days."

"Ok, that's normal," the doctor comforts, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around Hiccup's arm above the IV. "The days should come back in their own time, and don't be surprised if they don't always make sense." He warns and Hiccup resists the urge to glare at him.

Things make sense to him. To think that they wouldn't is nearly obscene.

"We'll fill you in," Astrid offers in the silence, and Hiccup nods, tight-lipped.

"About the clock. Can I ask you a few questions?" Hiccup shrugs his response and the doctor digs a piece of paper with a picture of a brain out of the file, reading a question off of the single spaced sheet. "What's 3 times 4?" He asks and Hiccup's face goes alarmingly blank, he blinks slowly, embarrassed color rising to his cheeks.

"I don't—I…" He stutters, flabbergasted.

"What's the integral of x squared?"

"One third x cubed." He blurts in response and the doctor smiles.

"How many square feet are in a three foot by four foot closet?"

"12," Hiccup answers, struggling to assign the answer to the first question that the doctor asked. His face is approaching a frightful puce color when Astrid pinches his palm, snapping him out of the frustrated daze.

"Ok, Henry, this is relatively typical frontal lobe deep trauma," the doctor explains, sounding confident in a comforting way as Hiccup's angry expression dissolves to concern. "You'll probably find a number of gaps, mostly associated with rote memorization and simple math. Most patients regain full utility in a few weeks with therapy, but you'll likely be finding blank patches for a couple of months."

"It's not…I'm—" Hiccup exhales, throat unnaturally thick as he chews on his upper lip, rephrasing. "So I'm ok?"

"You're going to be fine. But given your brain activity throughout the past few weeks, it's not surprising," the doctor chuckles and Hiccup sighs, zoning out as he goes through outpatient mental care with Astrid. He can feel her nodding through her fingertips, the soothing pulse balm to his frayed nerves.

"…The other day the doctor was saying that as soon as he woke up, we should get him on his feet. Should that be today?" Astrid's voice spikes, almost shrill, and he glances over at her, lost in the swirling flushing freckles. Too many faces at once, their nuanced expressions overwhelming his mind.

"Later, he seems done right now, and that's fine." The doctor touches his knee and he doesn't flinch, staring at the absurd sight of his leg tapered to nothing. "You've seen the physical therapy exercises?"

"Of course." Astrid nods, both nervous and eager for the responsibility as they both try to ignore Hiccup's tired glazed eyes.

"We need to move into doing those same movements while standing. We'll get him crutches later today, but for now, the more he moves and stands, the better. The amount of muscle mass he's lost is really unfortunate, and the faster he builds that back up, the more uneventful his recovery can be." The doctor continues and Astrid lets her eyes glance over his bony shoulders and skeletal wrists.

Hiccup smiles at her sleepily and she pats his hand awkwardly.

"Uneventful is good."

00000

"What?" Hiccup bolts upright, head foggy and buzzing as his hand squeezes down on too warm fingers. Astrid glances up from her book, wiggling life back into her fingers as she raises her eyebrows at his alarmed expression.

"Good morning sleeping beauty." She mumbles, turning the page and folding down the corner to mark her spot.

"I was asleep?" He hates how nothing seems real, hates how time is drowning in a fog.

"For about 3 hours," she answers, setting her book on the bedside table and offering him a glass of water that he takes gratefully, arms more solid than they've been since he woke up. "You snored like a bear the whole time."

"Sorry," he mumbles, handing her the empty glass.

"It's fine. Coma patients don't snore," she gently takes her hand back, stretching her fingers. "It was reassuring." He leans forward, sitting up and stretching his arms behind his head with a quiet groan, glancing over at her when she doesn't encourage him to relax. It's a fight to keep his head straight and he feels his face flush with effort as he rolls his neck slowly.

"What? No shoving me back onto the bed?" He asks, half hoping that her warm hands will appear at his shoulders.

Given the choice between dwelling on the absurd feeling of a hand on his nonexistent foot and hoping for the warmth of demanding hands keeping him still, he'll choose the second every time.

"The doctor said you should try and get up," she flicks her eyes to the crutches propped against the wall.

"Get up?" He asks and she shrugs, obviously conflicted.

"You should have been up weeks ago, for the leg."

"Because that makes perfect sense. You obviously are supposed to walk around to fix a missing foot." _Missing foot_. Missing foot.

His foot is gone.

It sounds more normal now, less shocking, and he gulps, hanging his good foot off of the edge of the bed.

"It's for circulation." She gripes, not exactly in the mood for his sarcasm.

He stares at her meaningfully before scooting towards the edge of the bed, stupidly brave as his toes touch the cold tile. His other toes feel cold and he flinches.

He wonders if Toothless feels his front leg too, wonders if he used to fall over when he ran, waiting for support that didn't show up. He wonders what it was like, waking up alone after being caught in that trap, wounded and confused, hungry and dazed.

"Crutches?" He asks, and Astrid raises her eyebrows at him, standing and grasping the aluminum side tube in a loose fist.

"You're doing it now?"

"I'm sick of laying here." He snips, too honest and coarse as he reaches for the crutch. She gives him her hand instead, wrapping fingers around his palm and giving him a light tug. His knee trembles when his foot touches the ground and she frowns at him. He ignores her doubtful expression, stubborn as he shakily shoves up onto frail tip toes, lowering his heel as she helps tug his weight over his foot.

There's something inspiring about standing and he grins briefly, bouncing twice against the mattress and popping up to a tentative balance, leaning too hard to the right as his left _toes_ search for the ground, curling and uncurling within the cage of his mind.

The tiles spin, and the word _love_ whirls around his brain, distracting and inspiring.

The sheets fall to the floor, pooling around his foot as he looks down, taking in the blunted state of his other leg.

Astrid grunts lightly, pushing into him with more force than should be necessary as she holds his shaking back steady, gaze fixed on the side of his face as his green eyes widen.

He bobbles, locking his elbow and laughing sarcastically to himself.

"I always knew my lack of upper body strength would come back and bite me in the ass."

00000

**I'm so glad I ended this with a little bit of determination. I worried that it might be out of place, but hey, it makes me really happy to not end this chapter with a passed out Hiccup. **

**So…confessions! **

**Un-dealt with confessions too, as fun as they are! **

**This chapter…I find it extremely necessary, and leading up to more fluffy satisfaction. I hope that the hand holding and explanation of progress is satisfying for now. **

**Also! **

**The brain injury totally happened to my grandpa. He was in a car accident and had his math skills messed with. I thought it was an intriguing detail anyway. I really hope that I've managed to maintain the organic relationship growth, and I hope to have the next chapter up relatively soon! **

**Keep reviewing…the more I get, inevitably the faster that Hiccup will react to Astrid's little admission…then again, grabbing her hand was a pretty big lurch forward…**


	36. Chapter 36

00000

Hiccup plops onto the edge of his mattress with an 'oof,' leaning his crutch against the wall and balancing his ten pound barbell carefully on his palm, curling it up to his shoulder for what feels like the hundredth time. His shoulders ache, but the solid pain is worlds away from Sunday's frantic tremors as his muscles got used to moving again.

His stomach is still pitifully small and he takes another bite of his grilled cheese sandwich, chewing slowly and wholeheartedly agreeing with Astrid that hospital food is well…exhausting.

He checks the clock on the wall, the number three spinning into focus while the rest of the numbers whirl meaninglessly around the face, making his head ache. Today, in therapy, he managed an addition problem set, but being excited about that was depressing enough to have him hopping around the room on a crutch, reveling in physicality.

It's probably the first time in his life that he feels stronger than he does smart and he switches the dumbbell to his other hand, curling it a few more times. His hands don't shake anymore, and the bruise from the IV stopped aching, finally.

He stares at the clock again, glaring at the numbers and flopping back on the bed, rubbing his fist over his eyes.

He's going home tonight.

His hand traces down the side of his leg, fiddling nervously with the silicone top of his compression cuff. His middle finger tentatively slides an inch under the tight gel before he pulls back, frowning.

How long is Astrid going to take, anyway? His dad was just going to take him home…but well, Astrid is well and truly in charge.

It's kind of nice.

Except when she takes her time at practice, leaving him alone in this hospital room for hours and hours with no entertainment.

Sometimes, he almost feels like he's gotten used to her. He can take the frequent punching, the rib poking and less than gentle analysis of his weight. He likes the hand holding, and even now he can almost feel the warm solidity of her thin fingers in his.

Not to mention that last night she sat cross-legged on the foot of his bed and did her calculus, and every time her elbow brushed up against his full foot he felt like flying. It was strange seeing her sit so clearly in the spot that his left foot should be, but the overly practical part of his brain is glad that she has somewhere to sit, because as an eighteen year old boy, he wants her _on_ the bed.

The foot thing…

It's not as bad as he feared, really. He saw the stump on Sunday, a dark pink scar running across a pale innocuous skin cap, like an elbow or a knee. It tingles when he touches it, but not as bad as when he thinks about it. He can still feel his toes, twitching and itching at the end of his stump, and the doctors say that might never go away.

Apparently he slept through the phantom pains that sent his knocked out body seizing.

Everyone keeps saying that he's lucky to have missed the worst of it, but honestly he wishes he'd been aware. Even his foot deserves a death throe, doesn't it?

He puffs air towards the ceiling, picking up the dumbbell and hammer curling it awkwardly, eyes focused on the rough lettering hewn into the butt of the handle. 10 lbs. That's about how much they took off apparently, including the cut leg of his pants, the shoe he'll never need again and his _foot_.

For the first time in his life, he recognizes his triceps in the motion, tugging smoothly at the joint in his elbow. He focuses on counting, the numbers drawing swooping shapes in his mind. He sticks at fifteen, holding the weight above his chest as he forces his mind through the next number, gasping in relief as he pushes the weight away, murmuring 'sixteen' under his breath.

"I never thought I'd find you pumping iron," Astrid jokes, leaning against the open doorframe, and smirking happily as he sets the bar aside, pushing up onto his elbows.

"What? Don't you go for the massive jocks?" He jokes, clenching a bicep that's not really there but looks like it could be. _Someday_.

He's just happy that the shakes are gone.

"No. I break up with massive jocks, I thought we talked about that part," she rolls her eyes, crossing the room and collecting his crutches, holding them out to him. "You're dad's signing you out, let's get out of this freaking room." She grabs his hand, heaving him up to his foot and holding steady while he adjusts, hand gripping her shoulder a second too long before he takes the crutches. She steps back, gesturing angrily at a sign on the wall. "If I ever have to read _that_ sign again, I will kill someone."

"So murderous," He fiddles, bending his knee as he settles onto the ball of his foot, thick hospital slipper feeling beyond ridiculous. "Did you happen to remember some normal shoes? Shoe." He laughs, groaning quietly. "Right shoe." She holds up a sneaker, grinning awkwardly.

"Here," she kneels down, prying the tongue of the shoe towards the toe and holding it there while he awkwardly hops into it, precariously balancing on the rubber feet of his crutches. She rolls her eyes. "You could just sit down, you know."

"I'm working on my balance. The physical therapist said—"

"Yeah yeah. I swear, you woke up a meathead." She jokes, choosing to ignore the fact that he practically talked her through her entire physics assignment the night before, _after_ missing class for three and a half weeks.

"Did not." He almost falls as she jerks the laces tight, too vigorous, and he glares at the top of her shiny blonde head. Her hair is wet, droplets clinging to the wispy strands escaping her unruly ponytail. "Is it snowing?"

"Sleeting." He looks at his crutches and she shrugs. "We're in the parking garage, you're fine."

"Let me guess, you thought of that?" His dad would probably follow the signs to patient pickup, rule faithful to a tee.

"Of course." She steps back, holding the door open. "I've got your back. Do you have everything?" He glances around the room, shrugging.

"You brought everything back to my place yesterday," he braces his hands against the handles of his crutches. This is the longest walk he's attempted and his nonexistent toes clench in anticipation along with his flesh and blood.

"Come on. I'm freezing, I want a freaking shower," Astrid announces, two steps ahead of him out the door, forcing him to catch up.

For a millisecond, the _love_ word pops into his brain and he shoves it away, focusing on catching up to her.

It's not love, or at least it's never been love before. Infatuation maybe, admiration, a dash of good old fashioned, blinding hormones. But love?

He remembers enough of the before to know that things were really changing. He remembers churning stomachs and protective instincts so strong that he tore a hospital sheet when they slapped him across the face. He remembers wondering how much he really feels, and being terrified because it's _too_ much, and she's too perfect, not to mention recently coming out of a 3 year relationship.

He's not an idiot, he knows about rebounds. A little hopeful voice in the back of his head reminds him that it's been almost a month and she's still…single.

Well, as single as you can be when you run around announcing you love people and doing your best to fail mythology presentations.

He does love how she treats him. Nothing has changed, really. Sure, she's nicer, and she's cried a couple of more times in moments of anxious exhaustion…but to her, he's just _Hiccup_.

She lets _I love you_ drop all of the time, in the most disarming and inappropriate of places, with just enough pause to stare him down like prey. Of course she hasn't done anything about it though, just tortured him with meaningful glances and too tight sweatpants.

His heart clenches.

He's struck with the fact that he loves her no matter how hard he tries to deny it.

He loves her so much.

He knows it's ridiculous, and it's the last thing he should be worried about. He should be dwelling on his foot, tearing through physical therapy and talking his lungs out to his hospital assigned psychiatrist. They say that the sarcasm and jokes are impeding his recovery, but it's the only thing that makes him feel right. The best he's felt since waking up was using his lack of balance to explain rotational kinetics to Astrid, tripping over his crutches in a half frantic lecture, tumbling back onto his bed with an ungainly slip.

She'd laughed so hard that she spewed water on the bed and he'd gone to bed still smiling on soggy sheets.

Everyone he sees in the psychiatry wing is on drugs. Ritalin for focus, Xanax for depression, and a bunch of other mood levelers he hasn't even bothered to try to pronounce. He guesses that most of them are probably alone, or holding too much of their world on their shoulders, turning themselves into stone in order to keep the forest from falling off the mountain.

But he hasn't _needed_ drugs.

Not that he hasn't been paralyzing sad, or depressed, or so happy to be alive that he feels like crying. He dreamt of seeing Toothless last night and woke up leaking gleeful tears into his pillow while a sympathetic nurse left a blanket on the foot of his bed.

Astrid checks on his walking progress across her shoulder, slyly glancing down at his rhythmically hopping leg and grinning to herself at the progress.

Hiccup remembered _kissing_ her the other day. The gaps have been springing back to his mind. A patch of gritty hallway, his butt falling asleep on the couch when he sat under Astrid's heavy head, counting steps while he ran through the shelter.

Blood pooling on a concrete floor.

His dad yelling at a cop.

But the kiss took him aback. One second he's sitting through another episode of Cops, and the next he's gripped with butterflies strong as nausea in his stomach as his face catches on fire, lips tingling with the too vivid memory of her overgrown bangs tickling his cheek.

He doesn't think he'd freeze now.

If he can lose a leg and survive a coma and walk out of the hospital of his own volition, he can sure kiss a girl. Even if the girl is Astrid.

Then again, it's comparatively easy to be confident when she's walking beside him, grinning occasionally and glaring down the freshly swept hallway with eagle eyes. It's easy to forget the utterly obvious thing he's missing, easy to feel like a whole person under her watchful gaze. She looks at him like he's going to get better, and it makes him feel like he just might.

Looking down, however, dashes the happy illusion, and he focuses on the end of the hallway, bricks bobbing rhythmically with his motion.

She pushes her hair behind her ear, catching his attention enough that he almost stumbles, crutch squeaking against the tile as he catches himself, armpits colliding with the rubber handles with a grunt.

She did say she was going to take a _shower_, right?

The image of her in his shower is suddenly so vivid that he does stumble, hopping short as one of his crutches clutters to the tile.

He's missed _privacy_.

"Are you ok?" Astrid asks, bending down and picking up the crutch, handing it out to him. When he reaches for it, she yanks it back with an expectant look, waiting for him to answer.

"Fine," he leans forward, snatching the crutch away and situating it back under his arm, "Just excited, wasn't paying attention."

"You have the attention span of a gnat," she mumbles continuing down the hallway slower, hoping that he won't have to struggle to keep up. The last thing they need is for him to wipe out in the middle of the hall.

"Come on, it's at least like…I don't know, a dog or something." He laughs and she rolls her eyes. "I focused on sleeping for three weeks."

"I still don't think that's funny, you know." Her fingers twist in the hem of her jacket, worrying at the fleece. "It wasn't like sleeping."

"I know." Part of him feels awful for making her face twist into that horrible memory of grief, but the rest is elated that she was worried in the first place.

Maybe it'll all become a dream when they get home. That's it. He'll become her _patient_ and he'll be the…pet monkey.

That's so horribly accurate that he frowns, silent as they make their way around the last corner, meeting up with his dad who's waiting at reception. The big man looks closer to normal, in his button down shirt and khakis. From the way his father's looking at him, Hiccup can't help but feel like a child getting yet another lecture about skinning his knees on the playground.

The nurses wave goodbye, a few even stop to hug him, but he really can't imagine why. It's not like he was a charming, interesting patient or anything. He has a sneaking suspicion that his room became the impromptu break room, and they're going to miss the silent corner of the ward.

He guesses there's something more relaxing about a relatively healthy teenage boy after an accident compared to an old grandmother not allowed to fade away.

Getting into the car is a real challenge, and it almost dissolves into a tantrum on Astrid's part when Gerard tries to insist upon lifting Hiccup into the car. He likes her psychotic tendencies, sometimes it's beyond nice to be defended by someone so formidable and he shoots her what he hopes is a grateful look as he finagles his way into the front seat, crossing his bad leg over his good and hiding it as best as he can.

It looks more _real_ away from the fluorescents and he grabs the end of his sweatpants, carefully balling them in his hand and holding the cuff closed, disconcertingly cool plastic pressing against his thumb. Astrid's knees dig into his lower back through the front seat and he knows that she must be slouched forward, purposefully pressing into his chair as she prattles on about her workout, cursing Gobber vehemently.

"…know that weights are good, but the man is on a bender. He's had me in the weight room three times this week. I'm starting to bulk up," she complains and Gerard frowns, thinking about her issue.

"Maybe he'll lower your weight and you can just up your reps, especially for something like calf raises, enough sets could possibly supplement hill work that you're going to lose because of ice." They might as well be speaking Greek…or addition, but Hiccup keeps himself focused on their conversation, exercising the still tired concentration portions of his brain.

It's like getting a bike out first thing in the spring. He feels like he's peppering the ground with rust flakes wherever he walks, leaving behind a trail of markers proving that he's not quite as good as he was before.

"That's one way to do it," Astrid muses, laughing to herself. "I still like the punching method though."

"Ah, come on, it's not fair to hit a guy missing limbs—"

The car falls silent.

Hiccup grins wryly.

"She hits me all the time, I don't think Astrid cares about _fair_," he jokes and a collective exhale echoes as Astrid kicks the back of his seat.

"I don't hit you, I bump you," she corrects him, and he knows exactly what her face looks like. Eyebrows piqued as she refuses to let her lower lip fully pout, nose flaring indignantly.

Is it wrong that thinking of her pretend stern expression makes him feel too warm in the genuinely cool car? He contemplates turning on the air conditioning, but it's November, and he _just_ passed a psych evaluation.

"It feels like hitting," he shrugs and she jabs his lower back through the seat, jolting him against his seatbelt. "Ow! Violence!"

"Baby," she complains, her knees exiting his frame of existence as his father shoots him a too knowing look. Hiccup blushes and sets his chin, staring determined out the windshield. Ghost clocks float by his vision, numbers and lines swirling in and out of focus as the stark image of an analog clock at exactly 3:45 suddenly sticks in his brain like glue.

He grins. It's a start.

00000

There really is something special about lying on your own couch with your dog on your chest, drowsing in front of a movie on the first night of Thanksgiving break. It doesn't matter that he hasn't been to school in almost a month, or that his dog has a wonderful new habit of jabbing people with his bony stump.

His eyes drift closed for probably the hundredth time before Toothless rouses him with a loud snore, a puddle of dog drool blooming on his shirt.

"Thanks for that…bud," he yawns, scratching behind the dog's ears. Spike whines from her roost on the floor curled by his head and he mindlessly reaches down, patting the first part of her that he reaches. It takes a minute for a flat blocky head to push happily against his hand and he scratches, mumbling, "don't worry girl, I won't leave you out of the…" he yawns, and Toothless licks his chin, almost successfully French kissing him, "love party."

His eyes drift shut again, and he blinks slowly, snuggling into the pillow on the couch, abnormally and irrationally glad that he only has one foot trying to escape the blankets. He wraps his arms around Toothless' shoulders, squeezing almost too hard as his head nods to the side, itchy eyes peacefully closed.

The movie booms and he blinks, holding Toothless closer.

The dog licks his cheek and he shuts his eyes more tightly, flinching from the tongue and wiping his face against the pillow contentedly. The tongue laughs and he opens his eyes.

The tongue is Astrid's hand, and she grins at him too fondly.

"Hi Astrid," he grumbles, suddenly embarrassed. He instantly notices her wet hair, pulled into a braid that has dripped and left a large panel of her white tank top completely see through, purple sports bra showing in a way that draws his eye.

"Come on, your dad's threatening to carry you to bed," she warns, stroking Spike's side and squatting beside the couch, smiling at Toothless' blissful grin.

Everything feels remarkably right.

"I will not be _carried_." He wrinkles his nose and she offers a hand, looking around for his crutches and dragging them from their place beside the couch. She notes the location of his compression cuff, resting next to his kicked off shoe like the completion of the pair.

"Then come on," Hiccup pats Toothless purposefully on the shoulder and the wolf slinks grumpily to the floor, curling and placing his chin on Spike's haunch. Astrid grabs the boy's sleepily warm hand, tugging him into a sitting position and laughing at his groggy eyes. "I can't haul you down the hallway," she reminds him, pulling on his hand while he wipes his eyes.

He shouldn't be so _cute_ and she shouldn't enjoy it so much.

"How's my drool…" yawn "spot?" He asks, and she looks down at the tennis ball sized darkening on his shirt. She frowns, his hair is starting to look greasy as well, because well, he turned down assisted baths ever since he's been awake.

"Awesome. I think you need a shower, dude," she pulls him to his foot, holding him upright while he bobbles, handing him the crutches. His entire body heats up at her suggestion and he shakes his head.

"Can we not deal with it right now?" He asks, and she sighs.

"Nothing to deal with, we got a shower chair at the hospital." She leads him down the hallway, grateful when his crutches move forward at her insistent pressure between his shoulder blades.

"I'm not going to shower in a chair," he refutes and she glares at him.

"Because standing on one foot on tile works so well." He doesn't respond and she sighs. "Come on. As your sometimes human crutch, I'm personally invested in you being at least semi-clean."

"Fine," he sighs, perking up at the exertion of getting down the hall. What he wouldn't give to recover in a one bedroom apartment.

"At least it'll be better than a sponge bath," she shrugs, pushing through his bedroom to the adjoining bathroom ahead of him, shutting the bedroom door with nearly uncomfortable gravity. He doesn't seem to notice the tension, hopping into the bathroom and leaning his crutches against the sink.

"Don't even remind me that I had sponge baths," he shudders, grimacing into the mirror. "Ugh, I look like I've had sponge baths."

"You look fine," Astrid leans on the doorframe, crossing her arms and staring at him through his reflection. "You've put on 3 pounds, I'm proud," he shrugs, leaning on the counter and tugging at the bottom of his shirt, confidence inspired by how wonderful this shower is truly going to be.

Astrid sighs from her sentient post, gritting her teeth briefly before stepping forward, grabbing the bottom of his shirt with both hands and pulling it up. He shrinks away, tottering alarmingly and grabbing her shoulder for support, obediently standing still in response to her glare. She tugs the shirt over his head, sliding it down his arms with averted eyes.

"Please tell me you can get the pants…" he laughs, miserably out of his depth as he nods.

"Some privacy maybe?" he asks, and she sighs.

"We don't have the rails installed yet, I bet you're going to need help into the tub," she laments. The last thing she wants to be doing is undressing Hiccup.

It feels sexual and wrong, and her entire stomach is swarming with uncomfortable sensations as she tries not to stare at the too lean lines of his narrow chest.

A braver Hiccup would shove his pants down and mosey to the shower, entrancing the beautiful girl in front of him. Apparently brave Hiccup has two feet.

"Help me in now, and I'll hand you my clothes?" She smiles at the solution, offering him her forearm and grunting slightly as he slips on the smooth tile, leaning against her harder than normal. Luckily, he can sort of fall and sit in the seat, swinging his legs around to the front as he closes the shower curtain, shuffling behind the rustling fabric.

A long arm appears, dropping pants onto the floor for her to grab.

"I'll go put these in your hamper." She offers, talking louder as he turns on the shower, hissing when the cold water stings his knees. "Where are your pajamas?"

"Third drawer on the left," she blushes, wandering back into Hiccup's bedroom and digging through his drawers, finding a pair of flannel pants and tee-shirt that she hopes are generic enough. Picking out his underwear seems oddly intimate and she settles for the first pair that she touches, bringing her stack of clothes to the bathroom and setting them on the steamed up counter. "Everything ok?"

"Yeah—ack, soap," he grumbles, and she can hear him spitting. She laughs, pulling herself up to sit next to the sink, holding her knees.

"Maybe you should keep your mouth closed," she suggests, and he laughs, leaning his head under the water stream and changing the sound of the spray hitting the walls.

"If you don't like how I shower, you don't have to be here," he laughs, stretching for his bottle of soap and nearly fumbling it, dropping it on his lap with a groan. That was dangerously close to being bad.

"Are you ok?" She asks, picking at her cuticles and staring at the shower curtain, eyebrows raised. "See, this is why I'm here, you're alone in the shower for two minutes and it sounds like you're dying in there."

"What, are you going to come in here?" He jokes, ignoring his physical response to the idea as he lathers across his chest.

"If I have to," she laughs awkwardly, that same hot uncomfortable feeling pooling in her lower stomach. It's unfamiliar and illogical, the complete opposite of the requisite appreciation that she always felt towards Scott.

"Don't sound so excited," he mumbles, and she sighs.

"Nothing against you," she amends, "I just got dry." It's half-joking and she's relieved when he snickers, pushing his soaked hair off of his face. He fingers the new scar at the top of his forehead, getting used to the pucker.

At least everything healed well, there's _something_ to be said for holding still for weeks.

"Have you been using this bathroom?" He asks, curious, and she shakes her head before realizing that he can't see her.

"Nah, the one in the hallway." She unfolds, slouching back against the mirror. "The shower chair makes it a little awkward."

"You tried?" He asks, triple checking to make sure that he managed to get fully rinsed.

"I missed you," she shrugs, that still vaguely unfamiliar and overwhelming tenderness rising like a balloon in her throat.

"So you used my shower?" He laughs, "That's a little creepy."

"Well, I also didn't have my shampoo yet, I needed to borrow some," she pretends her blush is from steam in the room, pushing her bangs off of her face as they awaken in the steam.

"I'm kidding, Astrid," he laughs, reaching forward and thinking about turning off the faucet, but deciding against it, cranking up the temperature. "I don't care if you used my shower."

"Are you coming out any time soon?" She scoots back, deciding whether she's going to get comfortable or not.

"It feels good," his voice is a little dreamy, a little disembodied, and she smiles.

"Mind if I hang out in here? Not looking forward to your dad chatting with me about…_this_." She laughs lightly, crossing her legs and leaning back against the mirror.

"Did you just gesture to the room at large?" He asks and she laughs.

"You haven't been dealing with him," Astrid grins embarrassed, glad that there's no way Hiccup could see her flushed face. "I mean—he's a great guy, and I…ugh, I legitimately owe him," she admits and Hiccup cocks his head. It's like she gained a couple conscience sizes even since before the accident.

It's sweet.

"But?"

"But if he doesn't shut up about me being your girlfriend, or…" She trails off, sparing Hiccup the rest of the embarrassment. If she gets one more baited look about needing anything at the store…

"Or?" He can't help but sound slightly offended. She _loves _him, but…

They need to figure this out.

"Just stuff that's none of his business." Condoms. Mostly condoms. She blushes, frustrated, "he's just trying to be fatherly."

"Well, he's doing that," the touch of jealousy in his voice makes Astrid glare through the curtain sardonically.

"Come on, you know what he said to me when he…signed stuff?" Took her in. Helped her. There are a million more elegant ways to say it running through her head, but none force their way between her teeth.

"What? 'I've always wanted a daughter'?" Hiccup suggests.

"No. He said that he hasn't done a good job of being a father…and he wasn't going to let anything happen to your _girlfriend_." She explains, and Hiccup sighs, staring at his pruning toes while he stubbornly ignores their minimal number.

"Are you teasing me on purpose?"

"What?" She defends, hugging her knees. "I'm not teasing you."

"You keep saying girlfriend."

"Well yeah, it's kind of easier than 'guy I love who has kind of been in a coma so no one really knows what's going on because he has bigger problems'." Maybe it's a hint, maybe it's a burst of utter frustration.

"That is a mouthful."

"Yeah."

The shower drums on the wall, rhythmic rainfall behind the curtain, fogging the bathroom mirror as her bangs crimp off of her forehead, frizzing in the thick air.

"So…"

"So what?" She snaps, inclined to leave, but too stubborn to move. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," he really wishes that he weren't naked, but at the same time he's extremely glad that he doesn't have to look at her face right now. There's nothing less conducive to productive conversation that her brilliant angry eyes boring into him.

"Because I don't really know what else I should say. I love you. No matter what a knucklehead you are, or how _clueless_ or how _distracted_ you are, somehow I still love you." She's sick of this unrequited nonsense, exhausted by the care and terror in equal interludes.

"You don't sound particularly _happy_ about it," he snarks and she rolls her eyes.

"Well, it isn't exactly fun, is it? It's exhausting, and taxing, and…Do you know what it's like to love a metaphorical black box of sarcasm?" She laughs, exasperated. "One moment, you say something so completely genuine, and you're the only person I've ever met who can make everything seem so _clear_. Then the next second, it's back to _funny_, and—Jesus, Hiccup. I admitted something that I felt before you did. _I_ was first. _Me_." She groans, burying her head in her hands. "The fucking queen of emotions."

Hiccup is silent for a moment, wishing for his pants.

"I—of course—why do you love me, anyway?" It's so out of the blue, so storybook perfect that he can't believe it's more than a phase.

"Why? Do you want a list?" She snaps, and sighs after a moment of awkward quiet. She's glad that she doesn't have to look at him for this. It's almost tempting to leave the room and do it through the door, eliminating distractions. "I—When you found Toothless…most people would have put him out of his misery," she starts, voice echoing uncomfortably in the quiet room. "But you didn't. And me…you didn't see an angry, messed up wolf when you looked at Toothless. You saw something that could be _sweet_.

"You're the most _different_ person I've ever met," he scoffs, and she speaks louder, cutting him off. "You're smart and stubborn and you don't…you never—You didn't look at me and see a cliché, or a problem. You look at the world and see solutions."

He's silent and she pouts, chin on her knees as she continues.

"And the quiet."

"I'm…I'm dizzy." She sighs, smacking her forehead against her knees in frustration. This is beyond frustrating, walking the line between their resolution and his over exhaustion.

"Towel?" She pushes onto the floor, grabbing a thick terrycloth towel and stepping forward.

"I guess." His hand appears around the curtain and she stares at the floor, too stubborn to back off as his slick thumb slips over her fingernails.

How had she not _thought_ this through?

She thought that she'd planned for everything, getting him to bed, getting up in the morning, school, driving…

Of course she didn't plan for the one time he'd be _naked_. Naked when she's frustrated and angry and hurt and worried.

Ugh, why is _naked_ Hiccup such a problem? She doesn't quite recognize the almost sick feeling brewing in the pit of her stomach, and she chews on her lower lip.

Hiccup awkwardly dries himself off, resigning himself to the soggy feeling of the back of his legs as he rubs the towel through his hair, handing it out to Astrid. She takes it, hanging it back on the towel bar and running her hand through her bangs, irritated with her own embarrassment.

She remembers when taking off his pants to give Toothless a bath was shocking, and laughs at her former outrage. She'll be _relieved _when he gets boxers on.

"Do you just want your underwear? Then I can help you out?" It shouldn't be a question. It should be a suggestion, or an order, and she crosses her arms, tapping her foot on the floor with a sticky wet staccato. She wants to get out of here, she wants to get back to her bedroom and curl up around Spike. She wants to forget everything she said.

When a speech like _that_ doesn't work…

"Wishing you let my dad get a nurse?" Hiccup asks, half joking as he tries to lighten the situation. Despite the awkwardness, and the worry about _her, _he's so unbearably glad that some person isn't busting into the shower and treating him like a _patient_. He's so sick of being treated like a patient.

He's sick of turning Astrid down too, but when he gets up against that moment, when he gets into one of those situations where he _could_ move forward, something jams in his brain, sticky and stubborn.

He loves her in a way that's painful.

"Never," she admits, too honest, and he smiles to himself, reaching out for the boxers. The soft cotton finds his hand and he wiggles into them, wishing he hadn't taken his compression cap off with his shoes. It's easier to deal with the completely foreign brush of his nonexistent foot against hand when it's covered in clinical plastic.

Then again, he can still see the line where the cap ends, impressed into his skin like a carving. He too carefully runs his finger over the seam, shivering at the too intense feeling of his touch.

"Ok. I should be good," he pulls the shower curtain back, feeling like a drowned rat as Astrid frowns, flushing as she holds out a hand. He takes it, her fingers impossibly cold and clammy in his as he swings his legs around, out of the tub and pulling himself uneasily to his feet, tile dangerously slick under his foot.

"Ok?" Astrid asks, voice too high in her throat as he adjusts himself, too warm hand on her shoulder.

Mostly naked Hiccup is almost as bad as naked Hiccup. She clears her throat.

"Tired," he admits, shifting onto the bathmat with an awkward hop. Astrid hands him a crutch and he takes it, leaning while she grabs his shirt off of the pile of clothes. He reaches out to take it before grudgingly holding his arms out and letting her slip the shirt down over his head. She steps back towards the counter, quiet and worrying as she reaches for the pants. She sighs, tapping her fingers on the flannel and turns back to him.

"Do you want to deal with these tonight?" All that's running through her head is all the awkward situations she can see herself ending up in. The heavy, all-consuming nervous grief for their almost resolution is stubborn and she bites her lip, looking up into curious green eyes.

"I just want to go to bed," he wipes a hand over his face, carefully leaning over and grabbing his second crutch, situating himself and hobbling forward a step. Astrid follows quietly and gets out of the way, shutting the light as he hops past her. She takes a moment to unlatch the door, knowing that Toothless will want to push in during the night.

He lets his crutches fall to the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed and whirling around, laying back on the pillows. Astrid leans on the bathroom doorframe in the dark, crossing her arms and deciding whether she's going to try talking or leave.

"Do you need anything else?" She finally murmurs, too quiet and Hiccup sighs, worrying hands on his stomach.

"You…you _know_ I love you, right?"

"No—"

"I mean, I thought I loved you for years. I thought that's what I was doing when I was wishing…" He throws an arm over his face, hiding in the crook of his elbow. "I didn't know _you_. I… n-never imagined you could be so tough and strong and beautiful and…reliable." The last word doesn't sound _romantic_ in the slightest, but this doesn't _feel_ like romance.

It feels like gravity, the inexplicable pull of two objects towards each other in space.

"It was a crush. Those happen," she grumbles, equal parts sad and hopeful.

"This…now it's not. I just…it's _more_." Great. The stuttering. Hiccup curses his own palpitating brain, hands shaking on his stomach.

"You're too tired to do this tonight," Astrid walks across the room, her cool hand checking his forehead for fever, before she leans down, aiming for a kiss on the cheek.

That's…committal enough, right? He's just tired, she tells herself, he's just…

He turns his head at the last moment, catching her lips with his, and pressing up into her as she gasps against his mouth. She kisses back, leaning down closer to him, knee finding the edge of the mattress as her hand falls to cup the side of his neck, mouth moving in slow shy tandem with his.

He's _kissing_ her.

Flashes of the days before the accident rush back in a flurry of butterflies and curling toes as his hand finds the back of her head, resting in her damp braid. She shifts forward, kneeling on the edge of the bed and crouching over him, tongue gently prodding at his lips as the room heats up, suddenly a sauna.

He kissed her.

He made the move.

His hand finds her waist, holding her close as he pulls away, breathing too hard, her forehead resting against his. She grins and he sighs, hand curling around her side.

"Ok?" He mutters, hoping that he got the idea across.

"Great." She answers, nudging him too firmly on the shoulder. He scoots away obediently, a little tottery as he balances on his heel. She nestles into the spot he vacated, scooting away from the edge of the bed and curling on her side, thin arm resting across his chest.

"Are you…err, staying?" He asks cautiously, confused and she presses closer, reaching down and pulling the blankets up over their shoulders, her leg cautiously rubbing up against his. Her head finds his shoulder as his skinny arm reflexively curls around her.

She feels like a new appendage, perfectly fitted to his side as her arm tightens around his waist.

"I'm…I'm making sure you don't fall out of bed." She defends, tilting her face further into him, inhaling damp cotton.

"That would be bad." He agrees, hand settling back in the crook of her waist.

"Hiccup?"

"Yeah," he _really_ hopes this isn't a dream.

"Stop talking," her lips ghost over his neck and warm his entire body as his chest aches with the sensation. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

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**So…yeah. **

**There it is. **

**Not really much to say here, except that I hope this is good. I didn't get as much feedback as normal on the last chapter, and I'm assuming that has to do with going back to school and junk, but it made me a little hesitant here. I hope everything is alright! **

**Please oh please oh please leave me a review for this one, I'm a ball of palpitating nerves over here! **


	37. Chapter 37

**Before you even start reading, give yourselves a slow clap. 117 reviews on one chapter? I didn't know that happened in real life. And over 2000 reviews on this story? (ALMOST 2100!). I feel like the luckiest girl in the world, really, you are all so fantastic and wonderful and…It's a fairy tale, and I can't thank you all enough! **

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Three Weeks Later

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"Hiccup, come on, wake up." Astrid urges, sitting on the edge of his bed and tugging on her shoes. He grumbles, rolling over and flopping a warm sleepy arm around her waist, tugging her horizontal and hugging tightly, face pressed into the nape of her neck. She frowns, squirming around with some difficulty, cursing his newfound biceps as they clench around her. "Come on, I already let you sleep in half an hour. We're running late."

It's his first day back at school, and his last opportunity to get everything turned in before finals next week. Of course he had no problem catching up, once he ended up dropping his college math class. Astrid already stacked his late assignments neatly into his backpack, taking the time to sort his papers from his horrendously chaotic organizational methods.

And now he won't get out of bed.

"But didn't you already plan on us being early?" He asks hopefully, arm wrapping around her narrow back as his lips press sleepily against hers, her fresh minty breath absolutely intoxicating. She pushes back against his chest, not as stern as she'd like to be as she pulls away.

"We're running late to be early."

"Can we be on time?" He asks hopefully, one hand sneaking under her to play with the soft hair tickling his wrist. He scratches at her scalp and she stretches like a cat, pouting and annoyed as she pushes him away again, head pressing into his fingers.

"Come on, it's six thirty already." She urges, too comfortable, and he nuzzles into her neck, kissing softly in a way that makes her head flop to the side completely of its own accord. She frowns and strains against his new wiry strength, facing him and pouting. "That's not going to work."

"That always works," he grins sleepily and she knees him in the stomach. He groans, letting go to hold the new bruise.

"No it doesn't," she snaps, rolling away and he pulls her back, lips finding the corner of her jaw.

"I'm really," kiss, "very," kiss, "extra sure," kiss, "that it does…" He mumbles, lips against the nape of her neck and she elbows him softer than she'd like, pushing her hair off of her face as she sits up, glaring at him red-faced.

"It doesn't," she insists, too breathless.

Jesus, give Hiccup three weeks and suddenly he's the one making her speechless. It's equal parts frustrating and gratifying and she tries her best not to focus on the overly warm sensation of his fingers stroking her lower back through her shirt.

"Seriously, you're going to be late. And then you're going to fail for the semester, and I'm going to be valedictorian." She threatens and he shakes his head.

"Never going to happen," he insists, pushing up onto an elbow and blinking into the light trickling through his window. Astrid pushes off the bed, too warm in her sweater as she stands, picking up Hiccup's new prosthetic and offering it to him. "Thanks." He takes the leg, fiddling with its straps as he sits on the edge of the bed, leaning over to secure it to his stump.

Astrid stares at the foot, avoiding his shadowy shoulders in the half light.

"Is this one working out better?" She asks, quiet, and Hiccup shrugs, fiddling with the edge of his sock and adjusting carefully as he fastens the buckles around his knee.

"Eh, they all feel like someone tied my shoes too tight, but it's a little better," he shrugs, persistently philosophical. "My back isn't killing me like with the last prototype. I think the flexibility is helping." He briefly tinkers with the new spring assembly at the core of his metal shin and Astrid wrinkles her nose. Even though he seems to be _adapting_, it's still beyond startling to look down and see the steel where his foot should be.

"I'm glad," She offers him a hand and pulls him to his still tottery feet. He squeaks slightly as the leg takes weight, then slowly lets go of her hand, smiling goofily. She suppresses her grin out of habit before it sneaks through, the reason to refuse it nonexistent. "It's weird seeing you in the morning," she comments, stepping back carefully as he shuffles around, pulling clothes out of drawers.

"Weird?" He asks, pulling the shirt he slept in over his head with an awkward blush before struggling into a new one. Astrid blushes at the flat new muscles that appear, bulging as he wiggles his arms through the short sleeves. She blinks as tugs the shirt down over his stomach, her eyes flicking back to his face.

"Huh?"

"You said it's weird?"

"What's weird?"

"Are you ok?" He jokingly steps forward, touching her forehead with the back of his hand. She dances backwards with a glare.

"I'm fine." She insists. "What's weird?"

"Seeing me in the morning…" he jogs her memory with raised eyebrows. She told him last week that his physical therapy was starting to show, but he'd written it off as another of her near constant jabs encouraging him to gain weight.

But something about her wide blue eyes flicking between his chest and his face, expression similar to Toothless' when he withholds treats, makes him grin questioningly.

"Yeah. You're normally asleep when I leave." She explains, ducking down and scooping his jeans off of the floor, holding them out to him as he steps towards her, narrowing his eyes.

"You're…you were just checking me out," he suggests, grinning at her wide eyed frown.

"No!" She crosses her arms, casually flinging his pants at him and cursing his improving coordination as he catches them, setting them on the edge of his mattress and crossing his arms. Her eyes flick to his biceps and she frowns, "Well…maybe." He grins and she steps around him, hiding her face and elbowing him in the side. "But you're my boyfriend, I'm _allowed_."

"I didn't say you weren't," he shrugs, attempting and failing to act nonchalant as he carefully steps into the pants, stumbling a bit on the left leg before recovering with a semi-agile hop. He buttons them and fastens his slowly tightening belt. "I was just _noticing_—"

"I told you your physical therapy was paying off," she snaps, blush darkening as she checks her watch, "and we're seriously running late."

"What? I'm—" She narrows her eyes at him, and his not so subtly clenching arms.

"Showing off," She finishes, cocking her hip and hefting his backpack over her shoulder, zipping it up and slinging it across her back. "Let's go, Toothless and Spike already had breakfast."

"Have you fed him all week?" Hiccup laughs, and Astrid cocks her head, nodding.

"He was hungry and you were determined to sleep until noon."

"When I got up and fed him. That's why he's starting to look…bloated," He laughs and Astrid shakes her head.

"Freaking wolf," they leave his bedroom, moseying down the silent hallway, past Astrid's lived-in bedroom and Spike and Toothless' cuddle puddle in the entryway. Toothless looks at his owner groggily and Hiccup kneels down with some difficulty, talking softly to the wolf and rubbing both dogs' begging bellies with kind palms.

The house is silent as she walks into the kitchen, grabbing two muffins off of the counter and beckoning Hiccup with her to the car.

It's definitely nice when Hiccup's father is gone, not that the man is particularly hard to live with or anything. But well…Astrid don't think she's been so red, or seen a father so proud since that first morning when they woke up together and wandered into the dining room with bedhead and matching grins.

That morning had been interesting, the first time she'd shoved Hiccup against his pillow and stuffed her tongue down his throat, his half asleep hands alternating between stroking and scrabbling at her shoulders, terrified and involved. Since then that's become at least a daily occurrence, this new relationship something warmer and more fluid than anything she's experienced prior. The cross between living together and being apart all day, as well as the serious undertone of the seemingly constant doctor's appointments left them with some definite cheering up to do by the end of the day.

Usually it happens on the couch, when Gerard was out of town, and has advanced to the completely wonderful straddling of Hiccup's skinny thighs as she plays with his hair, hands nesting in the thick auburn thatch while he tentatively _explores_ innocent lines and crevices no one else ever bothered to touch.

But the few rare times they'd somehow ended up in his bed, fully clothed but more naked than she'd ever been, as their shower wet hair drenched his pillowcase and they fell asleep a tangle of too bony limbs.

Sleeping with Hiccup is something new entirely, comfortable but too exhilarating to actually be restful. The four times they've done it, they've always managed to fall asleep in some absurdly picturesque tangle of limbs that unravels like wet yarn while they sleep. Aside from the time she woke up on the floor, tangled in all the sheets while he shivered on the bed, they seem to revert to the same spooning default by morning. Not that she'd admit it in so many words, but she likes the way she fits around him, arm over his ribcage and face pressed between his too apparent shoulder blades.

Well, not as apparent as they used to be.

Looking as his moose of a father, she should have guessed that he had it in him, but it still came as a shock when that baby fat he'd lost reincarnated as lean muscle. His starved, too-sharp jaw filled in with a recognizable steadiness, and as hefting his own body weight around started to improve his previously lacking coordination, his once jerky motions leveled out into near impossible smoothness.

He says it's his longest ever streak of not falling down the stairs, but she's too focused on the fact that soon he'll probably be _stronger_ than her.

She wants to be indignant about that, but it doesn't _bother_ her like it did with Scott, because despite constant punches…and the occasional elbow or infrequent knee, she doesn't want to beat him up. She can't think of a single situation, no matter how thoroughly she wracks her brain, where his pinched pained expression would be a good thing.

He had a bout of phantom pains a couple weeks prior, and she almost pulled her hair out with the frustration of uselessness. She'd sat up with him until three am while he refused painkillers and held her hand in a bruising vice grip, right foot tapping frantically, toes a sympathetic purple.

She wondered if he could feel the floor with his forgotten left foot, hardwood replaced by smoldering coals.

"I'm really not looking forward to this," Hiccup announces as he carefully climbs into the front seat of his car. He hates that Astrid still insists on driving, even though he's perfectly capable. If there was ever a hit to his already suffering masculinity, it's the feeling of being chauffeured around.

Being _manly_ was never really a priority before. He just never wasted time thinking about what he thought he could never be. Maybe it's being a _boyfriend_, or maybe it's feeling helpless, but he suddenly _wants_ manliness so bad it hurts. It's probably Astrid. Her undeniable womanliness laid over her strong stubborn core.

All he knows is that Astrid driving him around like a child makes him feel way worse than her breaking his arm ever did. At least _that_ was recognizing him as a person.

Then again, the Astrid who broke his arm has since been restricted to occasional tantrums on too late nights, roaring then sullenly stomping back to her room and slamming the door. _His_ Astrid always reappears by the next morning, apologizing quietly as she makes him enough breakfast for his father, silently plowing through twice as much foot before accepting his immediate forgiveness, comfortable chatter filling the once deadened dining room.

The chatter is definitely an unforeseen part of _dating_ Astrid. He thinks she has a half-decade of emotions pressurized in the vessel of her mind, spewing out of her mouth like steam at the strangest cathartic moments. The first few days, they'd had bathroom conversation during his shower while she waited semi-patiently to assist him. But even since they'd had the shower rails installed, she still makes an occasional appearance, usually at the end of a particularly hard day. She curls up on the counter with a cup of tea and prattles on under the guise of enjoying the sauna.

"It's going to be fine," she insists, merging onto the highway with a swerve that makes Hiccup cringe and brace for impact.

"You have to say that," he flinches again as she cuts off a sedan, flipping off the tired looking middle-aged driver.

"Well, people are going to _stare_," she shrugs, and he groans quietly, wiping his clammy palms over his thighs, "Not like you weren't expecting it."

"That doesn't mean I'm looking forward to it," she awkwardly sets her hand on his mid-thigh in attempted comfort. It feels too high, too close to what she's _not_ trying to grab, but wouldn't his sock covered knee be worse?

She's touched it before, by accident, and the way his face tightened and pursed made her back off like he'd scalded her. It wasn't an experiment worth repeating, and she's contented herself with inching upwards, squeezing in a bolstering way.

"I seriously doubt that your leg is the first think that they'll notice," she glances across at him. Oh to be a teenage boy living well below genetic potential. Seven weeks and it's a transformation.

She hates that she's fixating on how he looks. She just got over _pretty_.

She hates that the change is large enough to dwell on.

In the hospital, she _really_ hadn't seen this coming. He'd just looked gaunt, boyish face hollow under too pointed cheekbones, and she would have killed for his open eyes. Then she would have killed for five pounds, five pounds to pad his deadly ribs, anything to make him look less skeletal.

Then, twenty pounds later, she's…overwhelmed with the sudden presence of him. His arms invading her vision, striking steady jaw practically thrust into her brain when she kisses him, and his pivoting firm torso flashing her whenever he flops back onto the couch, almost too small tee-shirt riding up his chest.

"Right, they'll notice that I'm holding Astrid Hofferson's hand and she's glaring at them." She shrugs at the insinuation, smiling.

"I was talking about the recent…yeah, but that works too." She looks at him, serious for a second as the car meanders towards the median. She jerks it straight and Hiccup shoots her a look. "You do want me to…assist?"

"Sometimes I like attack dog Astrid." He laughs, grateful and she grins.

"Well someone had to fend off Ruff's barrage of 'I love you, Henry' jokes." He quirks an eyebrow.

"Only Ruff? Everyone else must have thought that was awfully funny too." She narrows her eyes at him, expression falsely haughty.

"Don't you know? I'm a tragic figure," she admits with an air of drama, and Hiccup laughs, "Falling out of love with her perfect boyfriend for the dark and brooding outsider." She lets the image sink in, and Hiccup can't help but feel his ego swell a size before she laughs too loudly, "but we both know _that's_ not going to last through today so…"

"Hey, I'm brooding," she snickers at his pouting tone and he crosses his arms, frowning out the window. "I'm brooding and _mysterious."_

"So mysterious, with your…that." She waves her hand in his direction.

"You just gestured to all of me."

"Uh huh," she affirms, veering into the school parking lot and pulling into a handicapped spot, hanging Hiccup's new permit from the rear view.

"That's not a cover-all replacement for adjectives, you know."

"I know," she smiles at him mildly. "Maybe you're beyond description."

"Err, thanks?"

"Who said it was a compliment?" She punches his arm, almost gentle, before climbing out and walking around the car.

By the time Hiccup has managed to finagle his way out of the passenger seat, knee throbbing strangely as his _leg_ picks up the chill from the early December asphalt, Astrid is beside him, handing him his bag and extricating hers from the backseat. He glances towards the school door, fixating warily on the shimmery patches of ice he can see dotting the sidewalk and tightens a white tendoned fist around his bag strap.

"Ready?" She asks, falsely chipper as she holds out her hand.

"Do I have a choice?" He can't help but feel a surge of heady confidence when he reaches down and grabs Astrid Hofferson's hand in the school parking lot.

If only he could have a little chat with himself 6 months ago.

_When a girl breaks your arm, sometimes it's a good thing. Trust me. Also, go shoot Astrid Hofferson's father, and have the shelter empty by Halloween. Also, French kissing isn't as hard as you think it is._

He can see his own incredulous face in his mind. That'd never work.

Astrid looks up at him curiously, sagely silent while he smiles and frowns, a million miniscule emotions flicking across his face. He blinks, smiling mildly at their intertwined hands before looking towards the doors, determined.

She remembers when she _hurt_ him for making her feel real, and hates who she used to be.

"Not really," she shrugs, quietly pulling him forward, keeping her pace intentionally slow over the ice. He holds her hand too tightly, picking his way across the frozen glass. She's glad that they're a bit early, though not as early as she'd planned, because there's no one shoving past in a hurry to get to class. She shoots Hiccup a glare when he insists on opening the door, and she snatches it from him, waiting until he goes ahead of her. "At least we do have our first class together," she offers, and he scoffs, gripping her hand tightly over the wet tile of the entry hall.

"You're just hoping I can win our A back after your—"

"Do we _need_ to bring that up?" She snaps, and this suddenly seems all too public as the people in the hallway glace their direction. Her momentary anger fades and she adjusts her grip on his hand, lacing their fingers together with an overtly smug grin. Hiccup can't help but smile, despite nerves, ignoring the tapping click of his new foot for the moment.

When her act is touting him, it's far more tolerable. He already misses the almost aggressively private Astrid that he's used to, but it's not like he expected her to suddenly become _subtle_.

Someone glimpses at their hands, his _foot_. He falters and Astrid snarls, lip curling back from her teeth as the kid skitters around them. She grins.

No one else looks below their hands, at least not noticeably, and it's the first small victory of the day.

"If you don't want people bringing it up, don't make a _presentation_ about it."

"Did Gobber tell you to say that?" Astrid snaps irritably and Hiccup laughs.

The hallway falls oddly silent.

_No one_ laughs at Astrid Hofferson when she's mad. The entire school remembers the time that Scott ducked down to his knees rather than remain on eye-level when she used that tone with him.

Maybe that Hiccup guy is even cooler than they thought.

Wait, Henry.

No one has the balls to call him Hiccup anymore, not after enforcing that particular rule became Astrid's favorite new pastime.

"Let's just get to class," Hiccup mumbles, wishing he could stride away from the public attention, but not trusting his foot on tile. He almost wishes that they'd stare at his foot, that'd be better than the blind admiration, wouldn't it?

No wonder Astrid is crazy, a few years in the spotlight like that would drive anyone insane. He's feeling off-kilter after moments. He knows it would probably make it easier on him if he let go of her hand, but that option seems unspeakably horrible and he holds steady, ducking into the mythology classroom with a sigh.

"You know, for someone who hates attention, you're really bad at acting normal." She extricates her hand from his, taking his backpack from his shoulder and setting it by his usual desk in front of hers. The simplicity of the familiar action takes him aback and the room spins a bit, posters on the walls blurring into illegible swirls.

He's at school, and Astrid is still taking care of him.

"I can set down my own backpack," he defends and she shrugs, sitting on her desk and staring at the purse on the teacher's table in the corner. They can't fail if Hiccup makes a case, right? Who would fail a guy with one leg? The teacher is…well, a high school elective teacher with a chip on her shoulder but she's not _Satan_ or anything.

"I'm helping." She insists absently, and Hiccup shoots her an annoyed look, walking over and leaning on the edge of his own desk. He leans down, pulling his folder of mythology work out of his backpack, staring at it's completely foreign and organized interior.

_Astrid_ organized his homework.

"This is too surreal," he blurts, and Astrid raises an eyebrow at him.

"What's surreal?"

"Me. You. Being here with you. Being here without my foot." He admits, chaotic, and she sighs, reaching over and grabbing his hand.

"Do we need to go?" He's been doing so much better, reading for longer and longer periods, practicing his simple math until he's faster than her again. But sometimes he still has moments where it's too much. She's grown to recognize the distant look in his eyes like someone flicked a crucial light off, but that's not an issue now, he just looks tired.

"No, I mean—No. We don't need to go," he responds, stubborn and she raises an eyebrow at him.

"We can go, I can turn in your stuff and you can take finals from home. Your dad has the school eating out of his Washington certified hand." She offers, and he shakes his head.

"Right, because it's not like I have to come back in a month or anything."

"In a month, you'll feel better," she reminds him.

"I feel fine," he assures her, running a hand through his hair. "It's not anything like that. It's the fact that I'm at school, holding your hand, and that's my life now. It's all a little—"

"Overwhelming?" She fills in and he nods. "It's been a hell of a year."

"You can say _that_ again," he laughs, his left foot tapping metallically against the foot of a desk. Astrid looks down at it, wrapping her head around the sight of the steel sticking out from the foot of his worn out jeans.

"That's—" She starts to comment on the annoying sound when the teacher pushes into the room, cup of coffee steaming in her tired looking hand. Hiccup perks up, standing off of the desk with a bobble. The woman looks at his face, then briefly to the ground before glancing back up.

"Henry! I wasn't sure I'd be seeing you this week." The official document they'd gotten from the office said that he'd return for the week of finals. She glimpses at the desk pushed against the wall, leaving room for the wheelchair she'd also been cautioned about. He walks over to her with a barely there limp, if anything looking less feeble than the last time she saw him.

"Yeah, I figured it'd be easier to turn in everything today, and there are finals reviews and everything," he submits awkwardly, wondering when people will stop looking at him like they're shocked he's alive.

"I can understand that," The teacher answers, sitting down beside her computer and keeping her eyes too fixated on his face. Hiccup flushes, almost fumbling the thick folder of assignments as he holds it out to her, setting it in her waiting hand.

"That should be everything, I—" He feels Astrid jab him in the back, startling because he hadn't heart her follow him. He glares back at her, and she shrugs. She just wanted to make sure that he doesn't forget. "Astrid wants me to ask about our project grade." He smirks at her as she flushes crimson, leaning on the whiteboard with her arms crossed.

"Your project grade? Those will be posted with the final." Being a high school teacher means that you're thrust back into high school drama. She knows who broke up with who this week, who's taking who skiing over winter break, and what some girl wore that made some other girl mad. She's never felt so strange talking about anything to a student as she does right now.

She'd seen them holding hands but…well, this is Astrid Hofferson, homecoming queen athlete and surprisingly astute student, who already went against type by grandly professing love. And then there's Henry Haddock, coma patient genius son of a Congressman, who's the last person on the planet she would have pegged for Astrid.

Is she an extra on Days of Our Lives?

Why did Astrid have to make the announcement in _her_ class?

Something about Vikings just makes people irrational.

"Erm…yeah. We were—Astrid was wondering" he smiles at her maliciously and she glares at him tight-lipped, "what that grade will be?" His voice squeaks slightly as his own nerves peek through, expressive eyebrows twitching halfway up his forehead.

"Oh." The woman falters, drumming her fingers on the table. This has been a hard decision, but well… "Your paper got the top grade in the class, and your PowerPoint was extremely informative," she answers concisely, turning back to her monitor.

"But?..." Hiccup presses forward.

"But nothing. It was a good effort." Their teacher insists, clicking through aimless links in an attempt to look busy. "The presentation showed the…_proficiency_ in public speaking that I was looking for."

"So…so we're good?" Hiccup affirms, shooting Astrid's wary form a questioning look over his shoulder. She shrugs.

"You should find your grade to be…satisfactory," she assures him, and he can't help his sigh of relief. She smiles mildly at the pair, confident that they really are two A-students, and she shouldn't feel bad labeling them as such.

Plus, who would fail the only kids who actually _learned_ something this semester? All mythological heroes go through trials of character and villainy, and very rarely does she see that emulated.

00000

"I'm so hungry, is it normal to be this hungry?" Hiccup pathetically rubs his stomach as he and Astrid walk towards the lunch room after physics. She laughs, looking at him half worried and half mocking.

"Well, you've spent the last month and a half sleeping. I guess being awake for six hours probably feels like a workout," she snarks at him and he shakes his head, grabbing her hand.

She never held hands with Scott, it had been one of the things his pathetic nerd mind had overanalyzed and clung to. Her fingers squeeze, small and wiry in his as she shifts her palm, making herself comfortable.

"Has anyone ever told you how _pleasant _you are?" He asks and she looks at him baffled.

"No—"

"Good, because they'd be a liar." He grins, and she reaches over and slaps his arm, frown dissolving into a grudging smile.

"You're an asshole," she tells him as they round the corner, approaching their lunch spot. Fishlegs nearly dumps Ruff off of his lap, waving at Hiccup excitedly. Astrid shrugs at her friend, who slips onto the couch beside her boyfriend and crosses her arms, smiling at Hiccup despite her disdain at being ignored.

Fishlegs pats the couch on his other side eagerly, but Hiccup waves him off, sitting down next to Astrid on the other piece of furniture, thighs almost too close together. Fish cocks his head and grins stupidly, like he just discovered that he shares a birthday with Wernher von Braun.

"So is this the new leg you were telling me about? With the carbide ball joints and accelerometers in the ankle joint?" He asks excitedly and Ruff backhands his arm, glaring at him.

"You don't just ask someone that, idiot."

"No, it's really ok—" Astrid jumps into the conversation in Hiccup's defense, glaring Fishlegs down.

"Why do _you_ want to try one out? Because I can make that happen—"

"Astrid!" Hiccup cuts her off, raising his voice above her angry tone, "it's fine." She looks at him with narrow eyes, searching for the telltale signs that he's lying.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, so you can stop threatening to chop people's legs off." She smacks his right thigh lightly, and she and Ruff share a sadistic smirk. "Actually Fish," Hiccup turns back to his friend as Astrid talks quietly to the other girl, "it's a newer prototype. The ankle wasn't working out, with my particular gate, so I'm temporarily on a prototype," he looks both ways before leaning forward, showing Fishlegs the bottom six inches of his new foot.

He grins when Fishlegs is the first person to ignore his lack of foot, fixating on the mechanism a few inches above the base.

"Is that…?"

"Graphene enforced stainless?" Hiccup grins wider, pulling his leg back from the center of attention, relieved that he finally has someone to talk to about this. He continues talking as he pulls his lunch out of his backpack, carefully unwrapping a sandwich he'd made the night before. "Yeah, it's new, they hadn't convinced anyone to try it out yet, because it's not…foot-shaped." He finishes a bit awkwardly, and Fishlegs counts clumsily on his fingers, trying to loop through an analysis of the static forces at play.

"What's the k-value on that?"

"About 10.5 Mega-Newtons per meter," he answers, and Fishlegs waves his arms excitedly. Astrid rolls her eyes at their antics, tapping her fingers on the arm of the couch as she chats with Ruff.

"They're so weird," the other girl comments fondly, and Astrid nods.

"You don't have to hear this one's tangents. He woke me up at two in the morning the other day because he had some theory about something and Toothless wasn't listening to him."

"So wait, it was weird that the wolf wasn't into math?"

"Don't ask me." Astrid laughs, glancing back fondly over her shoulder at the animated boys. Hiccup's left knee is still tucked behind his right, comparatively out of sight, but he doesn't seem perturbed.

"Today is going ok, though?" She asks, and Astrid looks at her astutely, trying to glean the reason for her concern. "Is there anyone I have to beat up or anything?"

"No," Astrid answers, a bit disappointed herself as she sits back down, thigh scraping along Hiccup's enough to make him cough, interrupting his excited flow. "I was kind of looking forward to that too, I mean how many excuses for violence are this legit—"

"Really?" A booming, petulant voice catches Astrid's attention and she whips her head around to see Scott's hulking form looking down at them disdainfully. She rolls her eyes at him.

"Like you weren't expecting this," she retorts, and he looks like she hit him.

He could seriously be in a soap opera, with that tragic mug.

"But…we used to sit together at lunch," he's making a scene, people look over, whispering in each other's' ears. Hiccup's hand finds hers as he sits up too tall, understandably wary.

Most girls would blurt something subversive, something hurtful. _When you were even here, Scott the rest of the time I sat alone and pined for your triceps_. Astrid couldn't care less, and she looks at him incredulously.

"Scott. Seriously?" Astrid nags him, annoyed, and Ruff seconds the notion, crossing her arms. Fishlegs gives Hiccup a sympathetic look and sits back, opting to stay out of it. Tuff rounds the corner, whistling to himself and stops when he sees the five of them.

"Oh, hell no," he turns and walks away, still whistling.

"Either sit down, or go eat somewhere else." Astrid instructs the jock like she's talking to a two year old, and he pouts like one, sitting in a chair across from her.

"Babe—"

"Not your babe."

"Astrid," he starts, gesturing to Hiccup, "I thought you were coming over later, and we'd work out and maybe—"

"I'm not coming over later." She insists, and the situation starts to feel a lot less threatening and a little more pathetic.

"But, I told you I was going to win you back, how am I going to do that when you won't let me try?" He asks, obviously frustrated. Astrid rolls her eyes.

"It's not going to work, can't you just get that it's not going to work?" She hisses, and the temporary quiet serves to scatter some of the curious crowd conspicuously milling around nearby.

"I'm way too handsome to give up that easily," he insists with a movie star grin and she looks blankly at him.

"Exactly."

"Huh?" He's more than a little lost by the turn of conversation and Astrid looks at him incredulous, rolling her eyes and whispering something in Ruff's direction that makes the other girl laugh. They begin talking and Hiccup awkwardly looks around, nearly frantically squeezing Astrid's hand for a rescue as Scott fixates his eyes on the smaller boy.

Astrid ignores him because, well, if he wanted help dealing with Scott, he shouldn't have embarrassed her in front of the mythology teacher.

Give and take.

"You." Scott accuses, looking more grumpy than scary as he points a bulky finger at Hiccup. "You probably think you're really _cool_."

"Umm…not really." Hiccup answers, and Scott laughs.

"Oh come on, with your wolf and your futuristic metal foot…dammit, you are _cool_." Scott pouts, crossing his arms and looking like an Abercrombie model, bulging out of his crisp polo.

"I was nice to you back when you were weird," the football player reminds him and Hiccup feels utterly obvious clenching Astrid's hand like the release handle of a parachute at 500 feet. She tugs her fingers away when she feels them turn purple, shooting Hiccup a glare.

"You never noticed me."

"But I didn't beat you up," Scott offers diplomatically and Hiccup raises a sarcastic eyebrow.

"That's you being nice?"

"Well, what else do you want? Flowers?" Scott asks, and Hiccup resists the urge to roll his eyes. "But you're a dude, so that'd be kinda gay."

"I didn't want flowers." Hiccup is reminded of the first few days after he woke up, when sentences seemed impossibly long and the world impossibly complex. He wonders if that's how Scott feels all the time, and he resists the urge to talk slowly.

He thought more of the quarterback when he was more of a silent, strong type.

"That's good." Scott narrows his eyes at Hiccup, "Hey! You tricked me into not yelling at you!"

"How'd I do that?"

"I don't know," the boy looks away miserably, before glancing down at Hiccup's _foot_. "It feels weird to be pissed at you, man, like hitting a girl or something." He sighs, offering a hand to Hiccup, "I'm still going to win Astrid back, you know. But you've proven yourself a worthy advisor." Hiccup awkwardly leans forward, shaking the thick hand that grips his with absolutely painful strength.

"Don't you—ow, mean adversary?" Scott lets go at the barely there admission of pain, smiling smugly.

"I'm not _British_."

"It's not—" he halts himself in the explanation, the utter absurdity of the conversation catches up to him and he sits back with a wry smile. "Right, because you're American." Astrid laughs slightly at that bit of sarcasm, pulling herself away from her conversation with Ruff enough to nudge him with the side of her hip.

"I swear, Hiccup. If you weren't dating my girlfriend, I think we could hang out…" He offers, as an incredibly un-tempting bribe.

"Ex-girlfriend," Astrid pops back into the conversation, taking Hiccup's hand back as publicly as she can and squeezing gently.

00000

**So…when a single Epilogue for this didn't seem adequate in the slightest I developed a plan to hopefully gracefully fade out and leave you all feeling satisfied. This is the first step of that, as well as summing up Scott (back to being the Snotlout we all know and love!), and the project. **

**Unfortunately, I don't think it'd be good for the story as a whole to continue writing every day of their lives, they're being good little characters now, and I can give them a little bit of independence, right? **

**I hope so. **

**Anyway, please oh please let me know what you guys all think of this installment, and gear up for the next one…which will be fluffy and earn it's T rating (*wink wink*)**

**Because we all deserve some of that! **


	38. Chapter 38

**Sorry for the wait guys, a lot to figure out here, and school is a biznatch. **

00000

Spring at the base of the Rocky Mountains can be amazingly fickle. Astrid glares at the sky, spitting snow in her general direction, as she trots inside, holding her jacket to her sides and wishing for something heavier in the chill. It was sixty degrees that morning, and now everyone is crying blizzard, and the weatherman is threatening a 12 inch dumping. Of course it'll be _betraying_ her on the one night she tries to plan something.

Colorado, where it snows nine months of the year, but any day may or may not reach ninety.

She rushes into the house a little after five, immediately met by a hundred seventy pound wall of dog and wolf, both yipping happily and leaping up to lick her face. She shivers, hugging Spike and lifting the big dog off the ground with a grunt, holding her briefly like a baby and blowing a raspberry on her smooth stomach. The dog squirms to the ground with a wide smile and Toothless looks up expectantly, obviously expecting the same treatment.

"You're as big as I am, dude, not happening." She does, however, lean down and tolerate as he lovingly licks her face, leaving her to wipe the sticky drool off on her wet sleeve. She takes off her jacket, hanging it from a hook in the entry way as she kicks off her shoes, padding into the living room in damp cold socks. "Hello?" She calls, more than slightly excited when Hiccup isn't at his cardinal place on the couch doing homework.

No answer. This might actually work. She checks the roll of paper leaning against the patio doorframe, and jokingly shushes Toothless, who pants at her happily.

She shrugs her shoulders to her ears, shivering slightly in her wet running shorts as she opts for a shower. The snow was supposed to be gone, she dealt with it, saved Hiccup from falling on his ass countless times in the ice, drove too far and too often over slick, glassy roads, and now it's _late_ March, and it should be warm and sunny.

Like yesterday.

Fuck this state's weather.

She shuts the bathroom door, dabbling before leaving it unlocked. As much as it would thwart her plan, she wouldn't mind too terribly if Hiccup made an appearance, as long as she's done shampooing…

That's a horribly unromantic thought and she shakes her head, stepping away from her clothes pooled on the floor and turning on the shower, shivering slightly in the initially cold spray. It wasn't meant in an unromantic way, per say, just…she's tired. It's only been a couple weeks since they've breeched _that_ barrier, and everything is still new and exciting and _exhausting_. Imperfect but wonderfully present.

The shower water finally reaches temperature and she climbs under the hot water, hours of sweat dripping off of her shoulders as she groans quietly, stretching into the steam.

Ok, she'll be genuinely happy if Hiccup _happens_ to wander in here.

She smiles mildly, remembering the never conventional night that everything finally clicked.

She hadn't been expecting a problem in the first place, hadn't expected sex to come up at all, at least not so soon. It's dumb, thinking back on those first few months of unrecognized sexual frustration that she hadn't wanted to trust him. Then again, she's tremendously lucky that if anyone understands the sentiment behind 'once bitten, twice shy,' it's Hiccup.

Or _dozens_ of times bitten, twice shy.

Now, thinking about the past weeks of kindness and pleasure and cold winter nights spent laughing too hard under warm quilts, it's ridiculous how hard she used to be, how _scared_.

It happened in Glasgow, as ridiculous as that seems, in a strange European hotel room while Gobber had no idea where she was. She remembers feeling awestruck, walking around a city older than anywhere she'd ever been, 10th in the world at something she'd worked for nonstop over the last four years, and all she could think about was Hiccup.

How his green eyes brightened when he saw her, how he clicked excitedly when he paced, mulling over math she couldn't begin to understand. How he looked when she yelled at him, pushed him away. How it was killing her fighting with him. How she'd never be able to break up with him and leave for college, even if it made total sense on paper.

How much she loved him, and how much she truly _wanted_ to trust him.

Those weeks of bickering half conversations, raging jealousy and sleepless nights were almost as bad as the weeks when he lay in the hospital, woefully unresponsive. At least sleeping Hiccup didn't push her away, demanding answers to questions that she'd barely acknowledged needed asking. It was better in the long run, she can see that now, but at the time it was a deal-breaker, a reason to move past her impossible road block.

Trusting him was big, acknowledging everything before him was bigger, and well…she's resilient.

She'd never run away from anything before, not really, not without a bold parting word. She'd never ducked out on something because it was hard, or she was scared.

Turning the corner to find a travel harried Hiccup stumbling on the cobblestones didn't even seem shocking at that point, and following him back to his hotel room was a given. He flew halfway around the world to see a race he didn't even make it to, and perched on the edge of the uncomfortable twin bed in the spare room, everything suddenly few into complete clarity.

She has two lives, one before Hiccup and one after, and their intersection was the most tumultuous part of her life. The life with Hiccup is predictable and warm and comfortable and safe, but that doesn't mean that she has to cling to the horrible experiences of her _former_ life.

And well…the rest is history…steamy, surprisingly wonderful, clumsily fantastic history. It was learning things she'd never learned before about topics she'd never cared to investigate. And it was cement, good old fashioned mortar in a sturdy brick house that was already foundationally sound. It was grilling the cheese sandwich, dipping the Hershey bar in Nutella.

It was the cherry on top of an already delicious dessert.

_Her_ bed hasn't gotten much use since, and curling up with Hiccup has almost ceased to be thrilling, instead his gangly warmth relaxes and soothes track sore muscles as they huddle together, feet pinned down by far too much dog for any queen sized bed.

Crap, how long has she been in here? She leans out of the shower, peering at her steamed up watch face and making out the time. She's been in here fifteen minutes, she'd better hurry, seeing as she has no idea when he'll actually get home. She speedily washes the conditioner from her hair, scraping her fingers over her scalp with a latent sigh as she turns off the water.

The newly minted mothering instincts in the back of her mind start to worry. She knows he's with Fishlegs' and they have to get their catapult finished and loaded by Monday, so he's busy, but a million ridiculous scenarios run through her head like a horror movie. He probably fell down the stairs and was too proud to text her.

The _joke_ isn't funny even in her own head and she rushes, patting dry and wrapping a towel around herself. She steps out into the hallway, calling his name tentatively and immediately feeling stupid.

Maybe he went for a walk.

In the ice and snow.

She shakes off the worry, quickly getting dressed, stuffing her still damp legs into stubbornly clingy and ancient yoga pants, tugging a tank top and hoodie over her head. His face is going to be epic when he walks outside and sees the surprise. He's hard to surprise, always two steps ahead of any plan she has.

He won't be expecting this one…she can't wait for that hard to win bamboozled expression.

That is if he isn't lying knocked out in the snow somewhere.

She shakes the ridiculous image from her brain, slipping her feet into her boots by the door and tucking the massive roll of paper under her elbow.

00000

Hiccup pushes inside around seven, holding a little too tightly to the doorknob as he braces for the onslaught of dog that happily jumps around his ankles. He shakes his hair, half melted snow dumping from his hair. What the hell is with this insane weather?

"Hello, I know, I'm late, I'm happy to see you guys too…" He murmurs, tired as he wipes his hand over his face, kneeling down and letting Toothless and Spike lick and smell until they're satisfied that he hasn't been cheating on them with other dogs.

He stands with the help of the door, scooting around them and glancing towards the living room. Astrid's backpack is by the couch, and the lights are on, but she's nowhere in sight.

"Astrid?" He calls from the open living room, and Toothless thumps his tail, trotting over towards the patio door. Hiccup quirks his head at the dog, he's never seen the wolf purposefully staying so close to the door. Especially in winter, when the icy chill leaks through the glass and leeches the heat from the room. He narrows his eyes, glancing at the fire in the fireplace.

That oddly-shaped burning log is new, he remembers Astrid carrying it in last week and dropping it on her toe, swearing at the room at large. So she's been tending the fire…

He wonders what her scheme could possibly be. He hopes it involves nudity, because well, he's an eighteen year old boy, and the best things do. Despite his overall exhaustion, he feels his pulse quicken slightly at the thought, and his damp clothes are suddenly intolerably cold against his ribs.

Sometimes, crossing that mythic wall in their relationship is a complete blur. One minute they were dealing with things that no one should have to deal with, and he was drowning under the understanding that Astrid had managed this by herself for _years_. No wonder she was violent, and sexually irregular, and latched onto the biggest idiot who she could control without issue.

It was the first time in his life that he was glad to be skinny, and comparatively unthreatening, because he wasn't a threat. It was still hard though, ignoring the trepidation in her gaze and pushing forward just enough that it felt genuine when he handed the control back.

It was a chess game, a battle of wills culminating in the realization that he wasn't a virgin anymore. The second time was much less agonizing than the first.

His hand reaches up to unzip his jacket when Toothless catches his eye, pawing at the patio door with an over earnest expression. Someone went outside _without _him. The horror.

"She out there bud?" The wolf lays down in answer, smiling as he gives his friend away. Astrid should take him outside, Spike is pouting in a corner she's so upset. "Thanks," He steps carefully around the dog, minding his metal foot and Toothless's sensitive front paw, opening the door and slipping outside, crunching through the already three inch deep snow.

It's not the yard he's grown up with, a massive banner spreading from one end to the other. The banner is torn in the middle, paint running in the dripping sleet as a computer whines, a projector flickering on and off in the damp. He can't see what's supposed to be projected, but it looks like summer, blues and greens dancing off of falling flakes of snow.

The banner says 'PROM?' and Astrid steps out from her hiding spot, holding a new leather collar in a beyond extra-large size.

"Surprise?" It comes out as a question as she edges forward, taken aback by his expression. He's not…upset necessarily, but definitely not happy like she'd hoped. He looks like he just opened a hideous Christmas present.

"What's all _this_ about?" He asks, gesturing to the yard and that pitiable projector as Astrid steps up to him, handing over the collar. He's suddenly cold, the pleasant warmth his musings generated a moment before shrinking back with impressive speed.

"I figured flowers were…unmanly, and I know you've had problems finding one big enough. I got it on a website selling sled dog gear." He examines the tag, which has Toothless's name and address, as well as Hiccup's phone number and a note saying he's a good canine citizen.

"Erm…thanks. But seriously, what's this about?" He repeats the questions and she looks at him like she doubts his intelligence.

"I'm asking you to prom." He doesn't look satisfied with the explanations and she continues, hands on her hips as embarrassment rises in her chest. She blinks a few stubborn snowflakes out of her eyes. "I didn't ask you to the girl's choice last month because—"

"Because we were fighting," he finishes for her and she frowns.

"I figured I should make it up to you."

"I didn't really _care_," he assures her, and she hugs herself, hoodie soaked and freezing against the skin of her arms.

"Well, I feel like an asshole." She announces, storming back across the yard and slamming her computer shut, hefting it and the projector under her arm and stomping past him through the patio door, hiding her blush in a flurry of motion. The inside of the house is blissfully warm, and the temperature change ignites a wave of shivers throughout her body as she sets her computer on the coffee table, sulking to curl up on the hearth in front of the fire.

She's not looking at the door when she hears it open and shut, and she stares stubbornly at the wall as Hiccup murmurs quietly to Toothless, his new collar clinking merrily as it tightens into place. Spike wanders her direction and puts her blocky head in Astrid's lap, staring up at her encouragingly. Astrid strokes her head fondly, rubbing her ears and scratching the soft fur on the sides of her neck.

"Thanks for the collar, it actually fits," Hiccup mumbles, walking over uncharacteristically slowly to sit beside her on the hearth. She wonders if his leg is hurting him, with the temperature change, and the worry floods her chest before she can stop it. She glances over at him and then looks back at Spike, letting the dog lick life into her frozen fingers.

"You're welcome."

"What's with the big production, anyway? It's not really your style," he asks and she shrugs, smiling to herself.

"Ruff and Fish helped out, they kind of ran away with it. Fishlegs told me to have you ask about the coding he did, he thought you'd like it."

"But why'd you even plan anything?" He was expecting, maybe hoping, for Prom to be swept under the rug, and then they'd really be home free for college.

"Because I wanted to try to be _romantic_," she sneers the last word like a curse, and sighs. "You're always doing stuff for me, and I thought it'd be _fair_ for me to try for once." He smiles to himself, looking miserably at his mismatched feet before looking steadily at the side of her face.

"Why _prom_?"

"I told you, I was being romantic," she defends, smilingly sadly as she flings an elbow over her eyes. "Fat lot of good that did me, I didn't even get an answer."

"Poor you," Hiccup blurts jokingly and Astrid drops her dramatic arm, glaring at him.

"That was a hint."

"I know."

"You know, I want an answer from the part where I asked you to go to prom with me and all?" She reminds him and he rolls his eyes.

"I don't understand why you'd ask _me _in the first place." With the normal high school pressures reinstated full force, he feels monumentally inadequate for the first time in a long time. Astrid and he at prom is literally a boyhood dream come true, and everyone knows those don't go as planned.

It's already a disaster, he only has one foot to bring. The invitation he got in the mail wasn't BYOP, bring your own prosthetic.

"You don't _understand_?" She asks, cuing on his language and Hiccup shrugs, eyes flicking to his foot. "Because you're my boyfriend and I love you? Is that a decent enough reason?"

"Why do you even _want_ to go to prom?" He asks, forcing his chin back to her. "You've been to enough dances, don't you kind of know what's going to happen at this point?"

"Why don't _you_ want to go to prom?" Again, her eyes flick towards his foot.

"I can't dance," he answers and she rolls her eyes.

"You think I don't _know_ that." She's unreasonably proud when she doesn't look at his foot, "I mean, think about it, we're seniors, we'll be completely lame if we show up before nine, maybe nine thirty, and the dance is over at 11." She explains, and he looks away, thinking hard.

"That's still 90 plus minutes of _dancing_," he complains and she tentatively rests her hand on his left knee, squeezing lightly in a way she hopes is reassuring. He resists the ever-present urge to shrink away, and she takes his presence as a good sign, scooting closer.

Honestly, they've probably sustained the same amount of damage, he's just lucky his _brain_ is fine.

"It's a high school dance," she continues, standing in front of him and tugging him to his feet. She positions his hands on her waist and wraps hers around his neck, swaying him slowly. "You spend slow songs swaying like this," she lets go of his neck and twists around, leaning shallowly back against his chest as his hands reflexively grab her hips, steadying himself, "and the fast songs swaying like this." He grins in spite of his initial resistance, tugging her lightly back against himself.

"I can see why people go," she laughs, pressing back with her hips and looking up at him over her shoulder.

"So, are you in?" She asks and he backs away, warmth fading slightly as their lower halves detach. The chill of their wet clothes introduces itself and Astrid shivers, turning around, concerned. "What now?"

"I don't want to deal with renting a tux," he offers feebly, and she lightly backhands his arm. Also he doesn't want to attempt dancing, no matter how innocuous Astrid tries to make it seem.

"You own a tux, I've seen it."

"I don't think it'll fit anymore." He shrugs, and her eyes briefly drift to his widened shoulders before she glares at his chest for distracting her.

"I'll go shopping with you for a new one," she suggests, smiling at him coyly. "I'll _help_ you in the dressing room."

"Erm…you will?" He flushes, brain struggling to stay afloat as her hand slides down his side, too _nicely_. "I—I don't need a new tux for one event, it probably won't fit in six months." She stomps irritably, hand flying away from him as her bribe fails.

"Wear a suit."

"Same problem," he insists and she stares at him evenly. Same problems. Plural.

"Go naked."

"_Why_ do you want to go so bad anyway?" He flings his hands wide in frustration and she crosses her arms.

"Because I want a high school dance memory with the guy I should have been dating the whole time!" She blurts, immediately regretting it, "Dammit! I—you always make me _do_ that."

"Do what?"

"Say things I don't want to say." She mumbles and Hiccup smiles.

"That's my job." He steps back forward, resting his hands on her shoulders. Spike pants happily from her post at Astrid's ankles, winking in his direction.

"I also may or may not win prom queen, and I kind of want to be there," she continues and he grins.

"So the _real _reason comes out—" Her hand connects with his chest with a too loud thwack and he laughs.

"It's up in the air!" She insists, pretending to be aghast but dissolving into bursts of laughter. "But I _might_ win."

"Of course you'll win, you're _you_."

"I thought you loved me," she jokes, her arms winding around his neck.

"I do, but that doesn't mean you're not ridiculous." She chooses to ignore the ridiculous comment, leaning towards him with a beseeching grin.

"If you _love_ me, say yes?"

"It's—"

"Please?" She cuts him off, slightly disgusted at the lengths she's going to in order to _win_.

"This is feeling very one-sided."

"Oh come on, stop acting like I'm asking you to give me your kidney or something." She laughs.

"I'd gladly give you my kidney."

"But you won't go to a school dance with me?" She raises her eyebrows and he sighs, lanky arms wrapping around her lower back.

"Alright." She grins and rewards the answer with a quick kiss that he really wishes were more.

"We'll seriously have fun, I promise," she insists quietly, laughing to herself. Her smile is intoxicating in such close quarters and he leans down, cut off when she starts talking again. "Plus, you can brag to all your grandkids how you went to prom with the prom queen."

"I think I have way more interesting things to brag to my grandkids about," he laughs, and continues, "I mean, I'm pretty much a hero, right? I tamed a wild beast," Toothless whines in response and Astrid laughs.

"So wild."

"_Anyway_, I tamed a wild beast, and took down a crime ring _and_ got the girl," he finishes, his voice cracking slightly, but she can't help but be charmed.

"Not to mention the bionic foot," she adds and he rolls his eyes, "really, that'll be impressive."

"So impressive," he mocks, and she looks up at him earnestly.

"Well, it is—" And suddenly they're kissing in the wake of her honesty, mouths working smoothly together as the day melts into stumbling backwards over Spike as Astrid stretches onto tiptoes, hands tangled in his soaked thatch of auburn hair. The pitbull yelps and skitters away from clumsy feet, sulking to the corner of the room with Toothless.

Astrid really feels bad, really, and she'll apologize later, but she's too preoccupied with soft lips and big warm hands pressing between her shoulder blades like hot irons. She feels the back of her thighs collide with the arm of the couch and sits back, clumsily pulling Hiccup on top of her with a breathless grunt. They tumble too far backwards, his sharp shoulder digging into her cheek.

"Smooth Hofferson," he groans, shifting off of her pointy ribs poking him in the diaphragm. She smacks him across the deltoid, sitting properly on the couch and tugging her hoodie over her head, chucking it at him coyly as his eyes drift to her bare shoulders.

"You're the clumsy one," she insists, leaning forward off the couch and kissing him again, pecking softly at his lips while her hand slides down, unzipping his sweatshirt and pushing it off of his shoulders. It sops wetly to the floor behind him and she laughs against his lips. "We're idiots." She comments, and he leans forward, gently pressing her back against the couch cushions, kneeling between her knees and running his lips down the column of her neck.

"Why are we idiots?" He murmurs and she slips a hand under the soft cotton of his tee-shirt, stroking the barely there protrusions of his spine.

"We've been….mmm wearing soaking clothes for fif-fifteen minutes." She stutters when he nips at the skin bridging her neck and shoulder and he smiles at the response.

"Were you cold?" He asks, feeling entirely too warm as he moves to her mouth, letting her dominate the kiss, shoving her tongue into his mouth almost painfully, too rough kisses making his head swim as a hot small hand grabs his belt, tugging him closer until their chests press together. She lets go, inching downwards and grabbing his butt in a way that makes him jump, exhaling heavily against her lips. She squeezes and lets go, finding his belt buckle and holding him captive with a lean, strong arm.

"Yeah," she admits, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and nipping softly. "Not now though," she mumbles, grinning and he kisses her again, wondering how his life got so _fantastic_. Her strong small fingers wiggle their way under his shirt and she tugs it up his back, making him shiver, arching forward and pulling away long enough to look at her questioningly. She pouts slightly, wrapping an elbow around the back of his neck and tugging herself up, pressing her lips against his with a relieved sigh. She grasps at his shoulders under his shirt, his skin rising in chilled bumps against her fingers.

He pulls away, breathing hard and smiling for forgiveness as he silently asks for a break, and slides onto the couch next to her still reclining form, her arms untangling from his neck and hanging limply at her sides. Only Hiccup has ever done this, left her completely worn out from kissing, satisfied and _warm_. She scoots lazily towards him, twisting to face him and slinging one long leg across his lap.

"Nice hair," she mumbles, running her fingers back through the auburn mess and laughing lightly at the way it stands on end.

"You like it? I'll get some hair gel," he offers with a humorously exaggerated smirk and she shakes her head, happily adamant. "No?"

"It's fine the way it is," she ensures him, loving his careless handsomeness. Her hands find the soft skin of his sides under his shirt, stroking slowly up and down. He shivers slightly and stares too deeply into her eyes before looking at her leg across his lap, embarrassed.

That's the thing she never expected about sex with Hiccup. He's still unbearably _Hiccup_. Still sweet, and still thinking and figuring and loving and emoting. He doesn't flick a switch, he doesn't start to see her as a body instead of a person, and he stays delightfully present, amazingly focused and aware and…

Ok, he _seriously_ missed out of that shower.

"What?" He asks, after a semi-awkward moment of silence. Astrid looks too happy, staring at the side of his neck, her brain miles away.

"Just thinking about how I missed you in the shower earlier," she muses quietly and Hiccup flushes, scratching the back of his head.

"I missed you too, I guess," he mumbles, sarcastic tone failing him in the moment as the temperature of the room spikes.

"You guess?" She laughs, sitting more fully on his lap, with her knees folded on either side of his hips. His hands find her waist and she grins, fondly pushing his mop of hair off of the forehead she so rarely sees. He grins at her, suggestively looking both ways before leaning closer, nuzzling too affectionately against her face and making her blush.

"I might have to erm…make up for it now…" he suggests quietly, kissing her lips and gently darting his tongue to mingle with hers. She sighs into the kiss, relaxing her palms against the flat of his chest, her fingers curling to nest in the cotton of his tee-shirt. One of his hands slides down, fiddling maddeningly with the waistband of her pants as his other palm cups the back of her neck, holding her impossibly close.

His lower hand slips upward under her tank top, tracing her spine and ghosting maddeningly over her ribs as the kiss deepens. Her hands scrabble across his chest, grasping at the warm solidness of him, his hair tickling her hand as it wraps around the back of his neck, preventing escape. She presses closer, hips grinding down against him, involuntary and intense as she moans into his mouth, pressure mounting in her stomach, dense and sweet.

She's too far gone to stop, hand sliding between them and scrabbling with his belt buckle, shaking clumsy fingers struggling with the leather. Her hand dips beneath his waistband and—

"Aah!" She pulls back, startled at the chill wetness against her wrist, snatching the arm back to her chest and looking around, nearly terrified. Spike is sitting near them, square chin resting on the couch cushion, where her arm was a minute ago. She pants and blinks twice, butting her nose against Astrid's leg affectionately, beseeching attention. "Hey girl," she mumbles, disappointed and amused as Hiccup's hand falls from her waist to the other side of them. Toothless takes this as an invitation, slumping over lazily and resting his wedge shaped chin in his master's hand, smiling content. "This is what I get for going outside alone earlier, isn't it?"

"Probably," Hiccup's head falls back against the couch, the leather squeaking slightly. Toothless sighs loudly and paws the leather, asking to climb up. Astrid laughs, frustrated as she reaches down, reluctantly fixing her _stimulated_ boyfriend's belt with steadying fingers.

"Sorry," she laments, cooling off rapidly with Spikes head on her thigh, looking at her with sickly sweet eyes.

"Later," he nearly admonishes her as she slides off of his lap to curl into his side, hefting Spike up onto her lap like an overgrown baby. "I will lock the bedroom door if I have to…" He sighs, wiping a hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. Astrid leans over and kisses his cheek, grunting when Spike head butts her in the chest, fighting for her full attention.

"Later," she concurs, hand finding his thigh and squeezing gently as he turns on the TV, relaxing into the couch.

00000

**So! Fluff for the sake of fluff, because sometimes, that's a wonderful, wonderful thing. **

**And I'd like to thank ****Midoriko-sama for the idea behind this chapter. You know, doormat!Hiccup gets kind of old, and I decided that I need to get better about Astrid being the one doing nice things more often! **

**Also…I know that I've told a few people, and talked it through quite a bit with the very same Midoriko-sama, and it's time for it to be announced. **

**Chasing Thunderstorms will have a sequel. **

**And the basis of it is outlined in this chapter…it will be M rated because, well, we all want to read about that revelation of a first time, don't we? We all want to know about those fights, and hear about Hiccup learning about Astrid's entire past…**

**So, that is in the tubes, currently being worked on. I'm hoping to release it probably the fourth Friday in November, for school break reasons, and then on a weekly schedule after that. It'll be shorter, probably only five or six mega-chapters, and I hope that this chapter was an interesting enough taste to have you all tuning in. **

**And, last but not least, thanks for reading this chapter, and I would really really really love to hear what you all thought of it! I'm terrified that I lost my fluff writing ability with all the seriousness I've been generating lately! So any encouragement is extremely appreciated and contributes greatly to future fluff writing! Thank you all!**


	39. Chapter 39

**So...I was conned into a prom chapter...you know who you are that did it. You also know who you are, you plot bunny breeder...and thanks for the advice and all! **

00000

There's nothing like a high school cafeteria on the day before prom, the banner counting down days until the seniors are gone hanging its number 14 proudly over the crowd. The school building itself seems to be alive, buzzing and touting its wares, bundles of ticket packages, bribes to after-prom, and tux rentals.

Astrid and Hiccup sit down at their usual lunch spot, and he looks both ways, timidly self-conscious as he puts his _foot _up, sighing relieved at the pressure being taken off of it. Astrid shoots him a look, casually resting the back of her hand against his forehead, checking for a fever. He shakes her hand off and pulls his lunch out of his backpack, rolling his eyes at her repetitive and worried spiel that he's heard at least three times this week.

He feels really genuinely loved as she punches his arm, standing and pulling her wallet out of her backpack.

"I'm going to go buy the tickets," she insists, finagling eighty dollars out of the leather and carefully pocketing the wad of cash.

"I thought we said I was buying," he reminds her, indignant as he tries to stand, almost immediately stalled by a strong hand pushing down on his shoulder.

"You said you were buying, but I asked _you_, so that means I'm buying," she explains, and he sighs.

"You really know how to emasculate a guy," he laments as a last resort and she blindly punches him, fist smacking lightly against his chest as she triple checks the bills in her pockets.

"I'm not emasculating you, you big baby, I'll be right back," she turns to walk over to the ticket sellers, moving slowly after yesterday's track workout. Hiccup likes it when she moves slowly, it's so much easier to admire her when she's not zooming everywhere.

"Fine, but I'm buying your dress then," he calls after her, and she flips him off over her shoulder, drawing snickers from a few people who catch the gesture. He grins and turns back to his lunch, chewing slowly. A couple of people wave in a delightfully friendly way, so far from the hero-worship of the semester before and he grins back.

As soon as he double checks that Astrid is preoccupied at the ticket counter, he pulls her wallet out of her backpack and slips a chunk of cash in, meticulously sliding it back into its place. Her organization makes her woefully easy to trick, he's noticed. It's nearly impossible to put something back on a pile correctly, but into a pocket or in a certain place on a bookshelf is a piece of cake.

When he glances back at the ticket stand, Astrid has the football player turned shot putter who's selling in a headlock that she quickly drops when a teacher comes around the corner. He's worried briefly before the two smile and knock fists, and Astrid moseys back his direction with a thick tan envelope tucked under her arm. She plops onto the couch beside Hiccup and deflates, opening the brown paper and pulling out a handful of cardstock.

"Just making sure Thompson didn't stiff me," she explains quietly, with a devious glare at the guy across the hallway, who shrugs dramatically. "I swear, I'm track team captain for one season, and now it's a free for all _tease_ Astrid party," she spits, anger not entirely earnest through the smile on her face.

"Eh, they just know what a softy you are now, because I'm still alive." She elbows him in the thigh, sinking deeper into the couch and counting the tickets on her lap.

"Ugh, After-prom tickets." She tucks the two pieces of paper back in the envelope unnecessarily hastily. "I don't get why they push those so hard."

"To prevent the sex," he explains dryly, earning another elbow to the hip. "I don't know. If you _want_ to go so bad, we can," he offers, mostly to bug her. He beams irritatingly when she glares up at him.

"It's at the rec center, it's all like physical activities and rock climbing," his eyes flick to his foot and she shakes her head. "Not like _that_, I just resent them tricking me into working out extra and pretending it's like a fun _treat_ or something. And I like sleeping. And they lock the doors once you get there and won't let you leave until five in the morning." She continues bitterly, and Hiccup nods, remarkably patient.

"So it's basically all your favorite things," he starts sarcastically, "imprisonment, lack of sleep—Violence!" He exclaims with a grin when she stabs him in the diaphragm with a too pointy elbow. She leans up and kisses his cheek to mollify him and he grins, accepting the apology. Ruff and Fishlegs walk around the corner, holding an identical envelope and carefully checking its contents.

"Making sure Thompson didn't stiff us," Ruff explains, and Astrid nods sagely, handing their actual tickets to Hiccup. He slips them in his wallet, eliminating the possibility of forgetting them.

"Seems like there's an honesty problem in ticket sales," Hiccup remarks and Fishlegs chuckles, producing a massive AP history review manual from his backpack and resuming reading the well-loved pages. "Reading for fun, Fish, or actually studying?" He asks with a smirk, and the bigger boy shrugs.

"A bit of both, I really should be focusing on the Cromwell era, because I'm a bit fuzzy, but I'd way rather read about the renaissance—"

"That was a joke," Ruff clues her boyfriend in, rolling her eyes and turning to Astrid. "So we're still on to go get dresses later? It's making me nervous."

"Oh come on, we already found them, they're in reserve, we just have to pick them up," Astrid calms her friend, producing her lunch from her bag and unpacking it on the table.

"Since when are you so calm about this shit?" Ruff asks and Astrid shrugs.

"Since I decided I was going to have wrinkles by the time I was twenty-five if I kept driving myself crazy."

"True, you are already working on some mad crow's feet," Ruff dodges away from Astrid's punch, laughing as she backs up into Fishlegs. Hiccup wraps his arm around his wild girlfriend, kissing her temple and assuring her in a quiet voice.

"Crow's feet are sexy." She whirls around and glares at him, bright blush staining her cheeks.

"And then there's this kid, so brave he's practically _challenged_," Ruff teases Hiccup, who grips Astrid tighter.

"She's not so bad, it's just like having a really angry Chihuahua—" He laughs, holding tight as she struggles, laughing through her weak anger. She finally gives up, leaning peaceably against his side and shaking her head in a girlfriend's lament. "Ok, maybe a really angry Boston Terrier," She elbows him in the stomach and he groans, setting her free to sit normally.

"I'm at least a small pit-bull," she insists with a grin, and he shrugs.

"Ok, a pocket pit-bull," he gives her, and her eyes go misty for a girly second.

"That would actually be really cute," she admits, wrinkling her nose, and Ruff nods grudgingly in agreement, probably thinking of her spastic pit Peanut.

"Well, actually, pocket breeds have a lot of genetic issues—" Fishlegs starts, Hiccup nodding vehemently in agreement before Ruff silences him with a glare.

"Let us dream," Astrid agrees, and the two girls claim the pants of their respective relationships with finality. The four fall silent to eating, and in Fishlegs' case, reading, until Scott and Tuff walk around the corner, followed by a too large procession of snickering kids. Tuff is grudgingly holding a boom box that he flicks on, the too recognizable theme song for Titanic wafting through the space. Scott steps forward, towards Astrid, with a bouquet of a dozen wilting roses, dropping onto his knees.

"Scott!" Astrid admonishes, feeling the tension mount in the air as the famed chorus approaches in the instrumental music, "Don't—"

"Near fa-AR! Wher-EVER you are!" He starts, his baritone voice unable to keep up with the music and cracking horrendously. Astrid jumps back, pulling her feet onto the couch underneath her, cross legged and wide eyed as Hiccup's arm tightens possessively around her back.

"Scott, seriously—" She urges him, as even Tuff starts snickering, the boom box shaking enough to modulate the sound in a horrifying vibrato that Scott mimics with zeal.

"And you're heeeeere in my HEART! And my heart will, go on and ONNNNN!" He finishes the chorus and takes a deep breath, but before he can start again, Ruff has snatched the stereo from her brother and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor, a piece of shattered plastic skittering across the room. Static echoes through the space before Ruff bends down, flicking the off button. Astrid could _kiss_ her, really.

But Scott would like that far too much.

Scott beams up at Hiccup, with a sort of mocking, '_sorry dude_' expression that Hiccup answers with a knowing nod.

"Decided to leave the shower with that one? Bold move." Hiccup snarks, and Scott stands, towering and oblivious to the laughing students behind him.

"Not all of us can be _handsome_ and _talented_, bro," Scott shrugs in apology and Astrid glares so harshly at him that Hiccup is surprised he doesn't burst into flames.

"No," she snips, making searing eye contact.

"But I haven't even asked you yet!" Scott deflates, but only slightly as he holds the bouquet towards Astrid. "Will you go to prom with m—"

"No."

The silent stand-off that follows gives most of the crowd time to disperse, having gotten their fill of Scott Nout drama in song form. The hallway is delightfully almost empty in a minute, and the comparative privacy is a boost to Scott's already indomitable confidence. People laugh at him more than they ever have, but he guesses it's because they don't have to worry about Astrid beating them up while defending his honor.

She's really good at making him jealous.

"Come on, bab—"

"Not your babe!"

"Come on, Astrid, we'll have fun, you know we will," he winks at her suggestively and she curls her lip in a way that makes Hiccup's heart soar.

"I'm going with my _boyfriend_, Scott," she says as mildly as a tiger, and Hiccup tightens his arm around her waist. It won't do anyone any good if she rips his face off…Scott's not a bad guy, he's just…well, _Scott_.

"Oh, so I'll pick you up at seven?" He offers with a confident movie-star grin and Astrid looks nauseated.

"Uh, you aren't my boyfriend." She reminds him, looking pointedly at Hiccup, and more specifically his arm around her waist. Scott looks briefly sad before his determination doubles.

"You should go with your _real_ boyfriend," he informs her, crossing his arms and knocking a handful of mostly wilted rose petals to the ground. "You know, _me_."

"You're not my boyfriend," she repeats, voice rising a bit, tracing the cusp of hysteria. Hiccup lets his thumb stroke slowly along her side. Half of him exults in the PDA, because she hardly ever lets him do this in public, it's too much like the show she put on for a particular football player.

"Baby—"

"I swear, call me that one more freaking time!" She threatens, fists clenching against her sides as she struggles to remain calm in the face of stupidity. He's like the jackass who won't go on a green light, it's impossible to be rational when faced with one of those people.

"You'd seriously rather go with that," he gestures broadly to Hiccup, before pointing at his own chest, "than this?"

"Thanks for gesturing to all of me," Hiccup interjects dryly, annoyed by the situation, but too intelligent to step in. It's like chewing out that twelve year old kid who called Astrid bodacious at the mall the other day, not worth it.

"Yeah Scott, I'd rather go with him." She says, proud of her almost calm voice.

"But you two broke up and stuff last month!" He accuses her and she rolls her eyes.

"We had a fight, we didn't break up," she informs him with icy efficiency, crossing her arms over her chest.

"_We_ never used to fight!" He waves the words in front of her temptingly, like a bribe and she scoffs in the back of her throat.

"That's because I never saw you and didn't give a shit what you did," she informs him blankly and he quiets.

"Well, I was busy." He says vaguely and she smirks.

"With what? Algebra?" Astrid insults.

"I was busy getting ripped, Astrid, and you didn't even notice my guns half the time. And plus, keeping you not pissed at me is like a full time job!"

"I guess I'm unemployed," Hiccup interjects, unable to keep the words from slipping out of his mouth. Astrid turns to glare at him for interrupting, before getting briefly caught up in the casual smirk on his perfectly handsome face. She blinks slowly as the color rises to her cheeks. Scott makes a gagging noise and she glares back to him.

"That's disgusting," the big guy comments childishly and she rolls her eyes.

"So are your veiny guns," She delivers the final blow and Scott shrinks back, looking wounded. Tuff's hand lands on his friend's shoulder.

"It's over, man, you tried," he comforts in a too grandiose voice, and Ruff shakes her head in his general direction, disgusted.

"I'm not ready for it to be over!" Scott laments too loudly and Tuff shakes him, ending up nodding his head madly more than anything.

"It's over!" He insists, blonde hair bobbing around his shoulders as he looks at Scott solemnly. "You can just go give those to that hot sophomore who kept flirting with you last week." He practically points at the flowers, and Scott brightens, mulling over the idea.

"What hot sophomore?"

"The one who was hot shit at homecoming?" Tuff reminds his friend and Astrid perks up, throwing herself back into the conversation.

"Yeah, Scott, ask _her_."

"You guys mean that one I made out with over Spring Break?" Scott asks for clarification and everyone nods.

"Yeah, and you dated her for like 3 weeks," Tuff reminds his friend. Astrid looks positively gleeful.

"She was pretty hot…I think I will." He looks at Astrid, strong jaw stony. "Last chance babe, these can either be yours, or I'm going to give them to someone else." He proposes dramatically and Astrid nods curtly.

"Don't call me babe." She reminds him for the millionth time, leaning back into Hiccup's bony arm. "And go ahead, give them away." Scott slouches off solemnly, doing his best to remain stoic when Tuff takes the bouquet, rambling on about using individual flowers to form a _harem_.

00000

"Astrid?" Hiccup knocks on her bedroom door, his voice whiny as he messes with the sleeve of his dress shirt.

"What Hiccup?" She snaps at him, carefully holding her eye still as she paints on a thin line of liquid eyeliner. She's already irritated, because her plans to get ready with Ruff got derailed when Mrs. Thorston stepped in with a full day planned of hair appointments and manicures.

However, the idea of Ruff sequestered to a salon chair while someone assaults her with hairspray is funny enough to make the situation almost forgivable.

Hiccup is a side of the getting ready coin that she hadn't considered, and at this point, she's more than a little sick of his badgering. Sure, it was _nice_ when he _helped_ her into the shower, and she didn't exactly mind when he insisted on hanging out in the bathroom while she blow-dried her hair, but she finally had to send him away when he started clinically examining the contents of her make up bag.

'_Did you know that guanine is harvested from fish scales?'_

She rolls her eyes at the memory, staring into the mirror as she carefully applies her mascara. Hiccup's voice flows through the door again and she stands to listen.

"We have a problem…" he mumbles, and she rolls her eyes, quickly finishing her eye-makeup with another sweep of mascara. The double-check in the mirror feels unfamiliar, and that makes her smile briefly before her semi-irritated scowl falls back into place and she opens the door, quirking her eyebrows and leaning against the doorframe.

Hiccup's eyes widen in a pleasing way as he drops his hands awkwardly to his sides, grinning shyly.

"You look great," he compliments her, eyes twitching between her delicate collarbones and seemingly massive deep blue eyes. She blushes, fiddling with the long silken skirt flowing down from her dress's bodice that ends at her waist. She better look great, all the effort she put in squeezing into this thing.

"What's the big problem?" She asks, slowly taking a look up and down at him. The rented tux is a decent fit, pants hugging his long legs in a way that grabs a little too much of her attention. She looks back at his now red face after a moment, grinning wickedly. "I _really_ don't see a problem."

"Well, you haven't seen it with the jacket!" He wipes a nervous hand across his forehead and Astrid rolls her eyes, "I look like a Bond villain." He kicks out with his metal foot, frustrated.

"I think you look like Bond," Astrid shrugs, pushing up off of the door and crossing her arms.

"Er…you do?" He falters, standing up ludicrously straight. She laughs quietly and he remembers his original argument, deflating slightly. "Bond had two feet."

"It would have done his character good to lose a limb." She comments, and Hiccup raises his eyebrows.

"You're a sadist," he accuses her quietly, and she shrugs.

"I'm not crazy," she continues, "Bond was kind of a horrible character. You never feel any sympathy for him, because nothing _bad_ ever really happens to him. He prances around, getting a bunch of people killed, namely women who he really shouldn't have slept with in the first place. It would have made him…_human_ to lose a limb or two." She finishes, and he blinks at her.

"Aha! So I am human?" He asks cheekily, not really trying to follow the logic at this point. She punches him in the arm.

"Fine. You look like a pirate. Is that better?" She sighs, walking back into the bathroom and shutting off the light, giving her face one last dusting of powder. It's killing her to not pick up her foundation bottle, but Hiccup's going to be the one looking at her all night, and he's also the one with a bizarre affection for her freckles.

"A pirate…_argh_?" He asks meekly, smiling a bit stupidly. Astrid rolls her eyes and looks down to check her watch, frowning at her bare wrist. She reaches into Hiccup's pocket and grabs his phone, checking the time.

"Come on, get your coat, we're supposed to be at the restaurant in 20 minutes," she reminds him, half excited for and half dreading the traditional group dinner. Everyone else is even taking a limo from the restaurant to the dance, but she knew without asking that Hiccup wouldn't want to deal with getting in and out of one.

"Ok…but pirate doesn't make sense, they were dirty and ocean-faring," he sounds unreasonably sad at the death of the comparison and she rolls her eyes, tugging her blissfully flat shoes on and meeting him in the hallway.

"Fine, you're not a pirate. Go get your jacket."

"Ok, ok," he disappears into his bedroom and comes out a moment later looking far too suave to be _Hiccup_. With the entire ensemble, she's noticing the small things. The way he combed his hair, even though it's already stubbornly falling back into his face. The way he cleaned under his fingernails, and shaved his eternal stubble.

"Ready?" She asks, reaching out and sentimentally grabbing his hand. "Ruff is going to kill me if we're late, she has this idea of making you and Scott take a picture together…Hiccup?" When he doesn't react to that particular sentence she looks over her shoulder, expression falling flat at the costume leather eye-patch held over his face with elastic.

"Damn, I was hoping you wouldn't look until we were in the car," he laughs, and she realizes that this is the happiest he's looked about the whole _prom_ debacle…aside from when he was helping her into the shower earlier. He looked pretty happy then.

She bites her lip, giving herself a moment to reminisce and remember why she was angry in the first place before slugging him in the arm.

"Where did you even get an eye-patch?" She asks him, irritated at the laughter slipping past her teeth.

Ok, it's pretty funny.

"I don't know, I've had it in my closet for a couple of years." She stares at him, snorting undignified.

"Why did you keep an eye-patch in your closet?"

"In case I lost an eye," he deadpans and she laughs through her nose. It's like a blind man making jokes about scenery, she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Then again, neither Hiccup nor she are fans of her crying, so laughing seems the best option.

"Come on," she urges, padding down the steps into the garage, once again eternally glad that she's not pretending to be taller than she is on this particular evening. He's still wearing the eye-patch when he climbs carefully into the passenger seat and buckles in, and she reaches over, taking it off of his face and examining it. He glares at her, smoothing his hair back into place and snatching it back from her hands, stuffing it into his pocket.

"I might need it," he shrugs in response to her incredulous look and she rolls her eyes, carefully pulling out into the waning April sunlight.

"Why? Planning on getting into a brawl?" She asks, zooming onto the highway and checking the clock in the dash before giving a little more gas.

"Scott is going to be there, isn't he?" He asks with a chuckle and Astrid rolls her eyes.

"Right, with his _date_." She grins, and Hiccup looks at her questioningly.

"You're insane," he shakes his head, leaning back and getting as comfortable as he can in his seat, despite the itchy polyester of his rented shirt tag scraping at the back of his neck. "That girl's like 15, and you're turning her into the _enemy_," he says darkly, gesturing towards the windshield.

"She's a representation of the _enemy_," Astrid explains, too confident, and Hiccup looks at her questioningly.

"The enemy being?"

"Girls who are only noticing you because you're cool and muscular now," she answers simply and Hiccup shrugs.

"Fair enough, I thought the _enemy_ in this case was girls in general." He does his best not to inflate at the mention of _muscular_, and fails miserably. He still doesn't recognize himself in the mirror most mornings, but that could also be due to the smile waking up next to Astrid puts on his face.

Sometimes it seems like he traded a leg for a life, and he's working to be ok with that.

"That too," Astrid grins at him, "you're kind of _mine_, eye-patch and all." She adds the last part mostly for his benefit and he grins stupidly. "Even though you're acting like a twelve year old with that thing."

"I'd be a pretty hot twelve year old," he quips, taking full advantage of that muscular comment she probably wishes she'd never made and flexing his biceps in her direction. She rolls her eyes.

"I'd be a pretty creepy eighteen year old if I answered that." He laughs and loses himself in staring at the side of her face.

She's prettier than he used to think, her inherent daintiness lost in his mind in pools of sexual frustration and teenage angst. He likes her small ski-slope nose, and her impossibly thick blonde hair, spilling from her head unhindered. He likes the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles, and the way her teeth are straight but her grin is crooked, the right side of her mouth lifting ever so slightly further than the left.

He likes the way she snores way too loud, and cuddles in her sleep, and glares at him when he takes too long to put his leg on. He likes how she insists on carrying her dog around like a baby, no matter how much it hurts her back, or how ridiculous it is. He likes how she lets Toothless lick her face, and how she can never seem to shrink the pile of her shoes in stasis next to the couch.

He likes how she's not afraid to drive, and ask him to prom, and tell him when he's being a dipshit.

Love is an understatement.

This is so much better than his reasonable goal of finding a nice nerdy prom date that would talk about physics with him and tell him what he wants to hear.

That had always been his argument, his one feeble last shot at talking himself out of Astrid Hofferson's spell. He needs someone smart, well geeky. He needs someone who loves math, he needs someone…like him. But there's truth in opposites attract, there's truth in the magnetic pull that a person can have towards someone so utterly different from themselves. He never thought he'd find a niche in loving a jock, he never thought one of the sweetest sounds he'd ever hear would be Astrid arguing with herself about phrasing on the foot of his bed at 2 am on a Tuesday. He never thought he'd learn to love anticipating a shower-fresh Astrid climbing into bed, cold wet hair and all, after a too early morning run and snuggling up against him on a weekend morning.

Ok, maybe that last habit is pretty lovable…

Astrid is perfect because she's unabashedly _Astrid_ all the time, she's angry and sullen and deceptively sweet and protective.

He knows it was her beauty, her raw brains, her magnetism that made him try in the first place. He's a comedian at heart, and he thrives off of gaining a _reaction_. That's why he couldn't shut his mouth around his dad, no matter how much the man yelled at him as a child, and that's why he kept coming back to Astrid, even after she callously broke his arm.

It wasn't even callus, really, it was fiery and irrational and desperate. She _reacted_ to him. She acted strangely, acted out, redefined what it meant to be Astrid all the while dancing around everything that he did and said.

He'd never known anyone so responsive, anyone who listened to his nuances and dissected what he did. In the beginning, she only did it because she thought he was kind of a freak, but she'd apologized for that as soon as she admitted it to him, slumping proudly and accepting Spike's worried kisses.

It doesn't hurt anything that she's beautiful, and thick skinned above a wonderful and shocking sensitivity. And it's definitely a plus that she seems pretty smitten with him, mumbling under her breath about his 'stupid arms' and 'god damned smirk.' There's no better feeling in the world than the most beautiful girl he's even seen returning the sentiment.

He loves that she's determined, and a little bit insane. She's ridiculous, and unbearably present, and—

"We're here, Mr. zoned out," she announces, flinging open the drivers' door and calling something offensive to Ruff, who laughs loudly from the lawn of the restaurant, retorting caustically. Hiccup climbs out of the passenger seat, walking around the hood of the car and grabbing Astrid's hand, suddenly nervous as the cloud of adolescent inevitability settles over him like smoke.

Prom.

After the last six months, he's going to _prom_.

Sometimes he wishes Toothless understood irony, because he really needs to talk about this with someone besides Astrid. It's not that she's a bad listener, he just hates that face she makes whenever he mentions the hospital, and it's not worth bringing up.

He and Astrid walk carefully over the lawn to the rest of the group, and he can't help but notice the tightening of her grip when Scott's date glances their way, tottering on her sky high heels. Astrid grins mischievously, turning and kissing him hard, leaning onto her tiptoes as she shoves her tongue greedily down his throat before pulling away with a smug grin, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Scott and his date seethe for completely different reasons.

"Jesus Astrid, stop wiping all your make-up on his face before I even get a picture," Ruff nags, and Astrid rolls her eyes, dragging Hiccup up the small hill to pose in front of a bush. Her familiar staged grin slides onto her face until Hiccup stumbles slightly against her and it melts into something more natural.

There are two smiles. The before smile and the Hiccup smile.

It turns out that Ruff is a bit of a dictator, running everyone through structured paces as she yells insults at the passerby that wander into their frames, and it's half an hour before a hungry Fishlegs tentatively suggests that they go inside before their reservation gets given away.

"Ok…" Ruff grins at Hiccup, unusually composed face terrifying, "but I'm going to need one more picture." She lunges forward, grabbing Hiccup's wrist almost too firmly and waving over her head at Scott, who appears to be arguing with his date. "Hey Scott, how about one of you and Hiccup?" Hiccup tries to yank his wrist back, but at the idea of being outwrestled by Ruff he gives in, stumbling forward with a grim expression. Scott waves, sauntering over with an unreadable look in his eye.

"I'm always ready for a photo ot," Scott announces, hamming it up as he slings a monstrously heavy arm across Hiccup's shoulders, grinning Ruff's direction. The girl snaps the photo before Hiccup can wipe the half-terrified expression off of his face, laughing to herself.

"Don't you mean photo _op_, Scott? As in opportunity…" Hiccup adjusts his jacket, shooting Ruff a glare that makes her bite her lip to keep from giggling.

This is her best idea ever.

Astrid shakes her head, stepping up next to her friend and tapping her foot, unable to tell whether she wants to protect Hiccup, or she just really wants to hit Scott. He's just very…_hittable_, it's like a punching bag shaped like a human.

"No, Hiccup, it's photo _ot_. O-T, like overtime. Because they always take pictures before games go into overtime, they like document the huddles and stuff. It's photo _ot_." Hiccup shrugs, hands hanging awkwardly at his sides as he refuses to smile, staring down the camera like it's an animal abuser or Astrid's dad.

Ruff snaps the picture, grin fading slightly at Hiccup's expression as she jams the camera into her bag, whistling to herself as she moseys over to Fishlegs. Astrid walks up to Hiccup, pointedly ignoring the other boy as she loops her arm through his skinny elbow, her eyes transmitting 'I'm here to rescue you' across the air.

"So you look pretty, Astrid," Scott attempts a compliment, looking at the ground and sheepishly toing a lip of sod.

"Thanks Scott," she smiles diplomatically and starts to edge Hiccup away.

"So umm…do you remember last year when my car got a flat tire and the tow truck driver gave us a ride?" He asks, his voice awkwardly rushed as he steps closer. His date glares at Astrid, and it's oddly satisfying.

No matter how much more rewarding being a decent person is, she does occasionally miss that queen bee feeling.

"Yeah, and we hitched a ride to after prom with Tuff, and he had like six girls in the front seat." Astrid laughs, pushing her bangs out of her face.

"And there was that one who totally looked like a guinea pig?" Scott continues with a baritone laugh and Astrid shrugs, blushing and feeling the need to explain herself to Hiccup.

"Not in a mean way, she was a very _pretty_ guinea pig," Hiccup looks at her strangely. Partly because the words coming out of her mouth don't make any sense at all, and partly because it feels like an actual new page seeing her be sort of nice to Scott. As much as she tries to convince the world otherwise, _mean_ just isn't in her nature. Violent maybe…but not mean. "Anyway…" She turns back to Scott, trailing off awkwardly, feeling like his ex and possibly his friend contorted together into a single strange person.

"I hope you win prom queen later," he offers, a verbal peace treaty.

"We both _know_ you're going to win king," she concedes.

"Yeah. You two…you two have fun, alright?" He waves awkwardly at Hiccup, for the moment comprehending.

Astrid gives it an hour before he next tries to hit on her.

"That was weird," Astrid mumbles to Hiccup as Scott walks away, expecting to feel…expecting to _feel_. Longing for her _first _love, or first relationship, or whatever. Nostalgia for her first prom, hell her first homecoming, her first kiss.

But that's like longing for canned peaches when you've picked one off of the tree yourself. Sure, they're _sweeter_ and taste more like what everyone says a peach should be, but there's nothing like chewing through that fuzzy skin and feeling the juice escape.

"Maybe our little Scotty is growing up," Hiccup comments in a teasing voice and Astrid smiles.

"Aah, but then who will make the fart jokes? And valiantly try and win me?"

"I'll be valiant," he volunteers quietly and she shakes her head, grinning in spite of herself.

"Of course you will Hiccup." She leans up and kisses him on the cheek, before rethinking it and planting her lips on his. "Let's get this over with."

00000

High school is like nothing else in life. It's the last place where you can decide who you want to be without fear of falling on your ass.

But nothing good in life happens if you don't fall on your ass.

As much as it pains Astrid to realize it now, the thing that makes you strong is how you act when you're weak. It's the face you make when you're out of masks, and you're left with your skin and not much else. It's the friends you make and the things you say when you need a hand.

She leans against the wall of the rented ballroom, prom queen crown crooked on her head, but not really worth adjusting. Hiccup is dancing with an incredibly insistent and slightly drunken Ruff. He couldn't look more awkward, back too straight as his hands hover around her waist, barely touching, if at all. He mumbles something that makes her laugh, and they both look around, presumably searching for Fishlegs. A group of people that Astrid may or may not recognize from physics wave at Hiccup and he grins, waving back.

His eyes flick to hers and she smiles.

He blushes.

The song ends and the two wander their separate ways, Hiccup making a beeline for Astrid. He grabs her hand, running a thumb over her knuckles and looking at her earnestly.

"She's a character, isn't she?" Astrid shrugs.

"I think she's jealous she didn't get to you first." Hiccup rolls his eyes and Astrid shrugs. He must know it's a joke, if Ruff actually wanted to try anything, she'd be dead already. "Anyway, Fishlegs ditched her, he said he had to make a calculation." Astrid is suspicious that's his personal code for running to the bathroom.

"They're…an odd couple." He comments with a quiet laugh as the music picks up, a too loud hip hop song that neither of them knows assaulting their ears.

"So are we," Astrid remarks with a shrug, and Hiccup frowns. "But I like it."

00000

**So...I'm liking the general fluff, window of happiness, Scott existing vibe. **

**Anyway, I wrote this all in a day, and I'm super brain dead without much to say, but I can't believe that this has been pushed to eventually being 41 chapters, and a sequel, and y'all are crazy. **

**Please please tell me what you guys think? I can never tell what you want, I give you fluff, and reviews are slow, I give you sad tragedy, and they're big but sad. Also, warning, the last few chapters are unbelievably happy because well...I'm a happy ending person, and I don't believe that a happy ending in November when you're 18 is convincing enough...so I'm dragging it out a bit...please tell me if you mind too terribly! **


	40. Chapter 40

**So…sorry about length here…longest chapter yet by far. But it was either be thorough or…not. So I was thorough. **

00000

"Astrid. It's not hard, just think about it. If the probability of A conditionally dependent on B is given by this expression," Fishlegs points a frustrated finger at Astrid's probability book, tracing along an example, "then what is the probability of B, conditionally dependent on A?"

"I don't know!" She exclaims, exasperated. Half of the students in their section of the library turn and glare at her and she snarls. Her head hurts. This is stupid. "If I knew, I wouldn't be asking you."

"Well, you have all the variables, you just plug them into equation B.6—"

"I don't even know which variables are which. What does P of A line-thingy B even mean?" Astrid groans, and her head falls to the table in front of them with a solid thunk. Fishlegs awkwardly rescues the book from her probable fury, staring at the page for something that doesn't make sense.

Astrid is smart. This should be easy for her, it's just simple conditional probability.

"That's the probability of A dependent on B."

"This might as well be in Russian, or something," Astrid groans, snatching her book back and slamming with a bang that makes Fishlegs flinch. It's just…cruel to treat a book that way. Let alone a math book.

Astrid twinges for a completely different reason, blinking too hard.

"It's not even in Cyrillic."

"What?" Astrid asks, the explanation pathetically out of context. If she weren't so exhausted and disheartened, she'd punch him, but even that seems…grim.

She must be broken, she doesn't want to punch Fishlegs.

"Cyrillic, the Russian alphabet."

"They have a different alphabet than us?" Astrid asks, her despair ludicrously mounting.

Why did she stay out until three the night before with her team? Oh yeah, they were celebrating the end of cross-country practice, which is completely ridiculous, considering she's already two weeks into indoor track season.

Who invented tequila anyway? They should be shot. Astrid wants to _shoot _them.

She wipes her hair off of her face, rubbing at her eyes irritably.

She checks her watch, it's only noon, and she's already this tired? How is she going to make it until tonight?

"Well, partially, a lot of Coptic symbols have remained into the modern writing, but they are interspersed with a more typically western alphabetic framework. Er, I think, I've only read a few articles on it," Fishlegs explains sheepishly, wishing that they could get back to math, but unable to walk away from delivering facts that someone actually _asked_ for, even if it was rhetorically.

"Was that English?" She asks after a minute of failed mental processing, and Fishlegs sighs.

"Next time you have tequila, maybe you should sleep a little longer," he suggests meekly and Astrid sneers.

"Who told you about that?"

"Ruff. She told me that you were probably still drunk when you went to practice this morning." Astrid sheepishly scratches behind her ear.

Dead week is supposed to be about studying, but it's so hard to focus on studying when everyone around her is partying. And then everyone keeps telling her how her finals aren't going to be _that_ bad, and it's completely cruel. And it's not like she has classes to sit through all day, so it suddenly seems possible…and now she's here. She lets her sunglasses slip from their roost on top of her head, covering her eyes as she looks evenly at Fishlegs.

"I don't have to answer that."

"No, you don't," he agrees simply, "it wasn't a question." She grins, rubbing at her temples.

"I like you Fishy."

"I take it you're done studying Stats?" He asks with a disgruntled sigh. He's been looking forward to helping Astrid with this since she asked—well, begged—him the week before when she learned she needed an 88 percent on her final to keep an A.

"No!" She flinches at her own loud voice, scowling at everyone who glares her direction. "Teach me. I'm seriously screwed if I don't learn this by Monday."

"Maybe we should start with something else…" he muses, flipping through the bookmarked chapters of her stats book. "How do you feel about z-test and t-test procedures?" He asks and she raises her eyebrows, the blonde lines appearing above the wire frame of her aviators.

"Those use the tables, right?" She asks, pulling the book back towards herself and flipping lazily to the appendix, staring at columns of numbers uncomprehending. She looks up sheepishly at Fishlegs, pushing her glasses back onto her head and smiling angelically. "Maybe an _example_?"

"Visual learner?" Fishlegs asks, oddly excited, and Astrid shrugs, nodding. "I'm more aural myself but—"

"Are you two seriously talking about _oral_?" A familiar voice drawls as Ruff slumps around the corner, plopping down next to Fishlegs and draping a long arm over his shoulders.

"Just differing learning styles, I'm more audio oriented and Astrid—"

"Likes oral," Ruff accuses with a rakish grin and Astrid rolls her eyes.

"What do you want?" She asks her roommate, wondering if Ruff managed to lock herself out of the dorm room…again…this week.

"Pizza," Fishlegs moves to stand up and Ruff shoves him back into his chair. "And girly talk about periods and stuff. You in?" She raises her eyebrows at Astrid, completely unaware of the dozen kids snickering at her words.

"Eww, Ruff. Why would I want to talk about that with you?" Astrid squints at an impossibly bright reflection off of Ruff's hair, debating whether to pull her glasses back down over her eyes.

"Fine we'll talk about Hiccup's juicy—"

"Don't go there," Astrid's possessive streak kicks in and Ruff grins.

"—physical therapy enhanced bu—"

"Ok, ok, let's go before I have to murder you." She stands grudgingly, taking her stats book back from a reluctant Fishlegs and stuffing it into her overfull backpack. The three changes of clothes and her entire stash of study materials must weigh at least fifty pounds and she slings it over her shoulders with a groan.

"That's something I'd like to see," Ruff challenges and Astrid shakes her head.

"If I kill you, they'll give me a new roommate, and she'll probably like Justin Bieber and perfume." Ruff grimaces at the concept and pushes to her feet, giving Fishlegs a sloppy kiss on the mouth before slumping towards the door, making Astrid almost jog to catch up.

She doesn't know how she ran six miles this morning, _walking_ seems beyond her now. The sunglasses are definitely necessary now and she tugs them onto the bridge of her nose, shoving her hands in her pockets as they walk outside into the frigid air.

The campus that once seemed huge and terrifying is now welcoming, the brick halls and aging dorms comforting and secure. About six inches of powdery, harmless snow drifts in the almost idle frigid wind, piling against buildings and streaming across the wide sidewalks like narrow snakes.

"How goes the hangover?" Ruff teases after a quiet moment and Astrid scoffs.

"Hangover? According to you, I'm still drunk," she sneers and Ruff rolls her eyes.

"I said you were still drunk this _morning_. Which you were. 'Oh no, I _overschlept_!'," She mocks and Astrid shoves her hands deeper into her fleece, refusing eye contact.

"Why were you awake, anyway?" The shorter blonde snips.

"Field Hockey practice," Ruff answers with a rakish grin. Only she would walk onto that field of massive girls with no prior game experience and punch the captain in the face…apparently she was there for some completely different reason, but the coach was impressed, and gave her a shot. And given the season she's had, it could possibly erupt into a scholarship.

Astrid has her fingers crossed, if only because that means she'll have another three years of her selected dorm roommate.

"How's that going?" She can't imagine playing a sport that was only _active_ a third of the year.

"Eh, we ran around a bunch, and it was freaking cold. And then I got to hit a Sociology major with a stick, so that was fun." Astrid rolls her eyes.

"You _undeclared_ people, always judging other majors."

"Hey, it's awesome, I'm like a mercenary. Services to the highest bidder." Ruff grins at her friend, too pleased with herself.

"Whatever. So what 'girly shit' was so pressing anyway?" Astrid cuts through the crap, carefully climbing icy steps onto the street. Boulder spreads beneath the hill, nearly overflowing with stressed out college kids and middle aged hippies.

"Oh come on, you're done with the major wars already?" She jokes, "Because I have a few things to say about you pre-law types…"

"English, fulfilling pre-law requirements," Astrid corrects for what must be the five-hundredth time. "And I need to get headed down to Evergreen soon, so yeah, I'd like to get the girly talk out of the way."

"Ooh, getting excited for the weekend with Hiccup?" Ruff teases, elbowing her friend in the arm. Astrid would punch back, but she totters, her head spinning uneasily as she regains her balance. If she were feeling _normal_ she'd slug Ruff in the side and inform her that it's not a weekend, it's five days.

No more tequila. Ever.

"Oh come on, it's a study marathon, not a trip to Mexico," she defends, blushing too brightly in spite of herself. "But yeah, maybe a little excited." Five days back at home, curled up on the couch with textbooks and a cup of hot cocoa, cramming knowledge into her brain without anyone peeling her away to go party—

Her head throbs angrily and she pushes her bangs off of her forehead, rubbing her face.

Next time she'll stick to beer.

_One_ beer.

"I can't imagine leaving Fish back home," Ruff admits and that too common jealousy that overcomes Astrid every time her roommate commandeers the room overtakes her.

"So I take it you and Legs isn't the subject of this girly talk?" Astrid redirects the conversation, and Ruff groans.

"I try and have a relaxing chat with you, Hofferson…"

"Seriously? You two are having problems?" She asks, raising her eyebrows at the other girl.

"Not _problems_ exactly…" Ruff hedges and Astrid raises her eyebrows.

"Don't make me beat it out of you…"

"I'd like to see you try," the taller girl grins, eternally ready for a brawl. Astrid looks at her friend over the top of her glasses, blinking slowly in the light and ruining her serious expression.

"Come on."

"Fishlegs is great, you know that. We're _great_, right?" Ruff starts, wringing her hands in front of her slowly, picking at her cuticles. "But I mean…Ugh, I forgot my wallet," she laments suddenly and Astrid brushes her off.

"You can owe me," she offers, checking her watch again. Hiccup could tell her exactly how many hours she's going to have with him, but it'd still seem obsessive to ask.

She was home a week and a half ago for Hiccup's birthday, but it still feels like she's been gone forever. It's been too long since she played tug of war with Spike, or kissed her boyfriend. And it's been even longer since anyone told her sit down and study, and if there's anything Hiccup will do for her it's nag her about studying.

"Thanks roomie," Ruff walks a little faster, pushing through the eternally greasy door of their favorite pizza place, slumping to their normal booth. Astrid swears that cross-country team dinners here have at least doubled the size of the owner's kids' college funds.

Their normal bored college kid waiter drops off menus, looking more harried than normal. Ruff pours over the pages, conversation momentarily lulled as she worries about pizza. Astrid shuts the menu, uncharacteristically nauseated as her head throbs in tune with the music. She can't bear to take off her sunglasses and she rests her chin on her hands, blinking out at the dim room.

"So…you and Fishlegs?" She prods, gratefully accepting a glass of water from the waiter and ordering garlic bread, vowing to brush her teeth before she sees Hiccup. Ruff grins at her scant food choice and orders a medium pizza.

"Well, I can see him sticking around for…well, awhile." Ruff admits, and it's nothing Astrid hasn't heard before, so she nods the other girl forward, "and I guess my mom used her ninja sense and figured that much out." The girl's inner rebel without a cause bristles and Astrid braces herself for the onslaught of suburban hate. "But she insisted on the whole meet the parents, formal dinner a couple weekends ago—"

"Where was I for all this?" Astrid wonders aloud, thinking back to every date she's helped Ruff get ready for this semester. For a girl who can't match her socks, she sure seems to care about her underwear.

"Hartford? I think. That's where nationals were, right?" Astrid nods.

"Right, you texted me that your parents were coming up and you shoved all my stuff under the bed." Ruff grins at the memory.

"Yeah, that was it."

"Well…"

"Oh, right," Ruff drums her knuckles on the greasy table, frowning. "He's super parent-approved."

"Nice," Astrid congratulates her friend, who sneers at her. "Not nice then."

"God, my freaking mom wouldn't shut up about how _nice_ he was, and how _cute_ he was, and there's Fish, offering to fix my parent's garage door and house-sit while we all go out of town over spring break."

"I don't see how this is a bad thing."

"You don't get it, Astrid, even my _dad_ liked him. They started talking about accountant things and drawing diagrams my dad's car and stuff." Ruff holds her temples, staring horrified at the table.

"Seriously, what's the problem?"

"Can you imagine me…_ending_ _up_ with someone who my parents _adore_? I mean that was the best thing about— don't say his name. My mom hated that guy. She thought he was going to end up in prison."

"She was right," Astrid laughs, remembering reading about Ruff's ex's incarceration.

"Still. Imagine Tuff's face when he learns how much they like my boyfriend!" Astrid laughs at the mental image of the gangly blonde's gloating smile, and Ruff glares at her, unappreciative.

"How is Tuff, anyway?"

"Ugh, still _finding_ _himself_, whatever that means. At this point, I think it has something to do with gonorrhea." She crosses her arms, pouting. "My parents are so pissed off."

"So he's winning?" Ruff nods furiously before catching herself.

"Wait…"

"Yeah, he's somewhere _finding himself_, and probably trying and failing for dozens of girls a day. You've got a steady boyfriend who your parents like, and you're probably going to pay for college by literally beating girls with a stick." Astrid summarizes with a grin. "Kind of sounds like you're winning to me."

"It's so…mundane though," Ruff laments, and Astrid rolls her eyes.

"Come on, these days you're more out there for staying with your high school boyfriend than for dumping him." Astrid grins and Ruff scoffs.

"Tell me if you're still thinking that when someone mentions _marriage_," the shorter girl grimaces, sunglasses digging painfully into the bridge of her nose.

"Marriage?"

"My mom mentioned _marriage_. It's the first time she's ever looked at me when she said the word _grandkids_." Ruff relays the information like a horror story before laughing, "I guess before now she always thought her only hope was one of Tuff's yet to be born bastards."

"_Marriage_," Astrid echoes, not even daring to touch that grandkids idea.

Ugh, Ruff and she as parents?

She needs to stock up on condoms.

Yup, definitely condoms. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and texts Hiccup the all-important one-word text, knowing he'll make the store run.

She remembers one time they went together, it was past midnight and the 24 hour drug store clerk gave Hiccup this _look_ that made her feel about six inches tall. He almost died, but Hiccup resumed being _distracting_ before she could get too committed to murder.

"Yeah, it's freaky, right?"

"Ugh, that's…yeah." She agrees, her headache doubling in her brain.

"Still gung ho about the high school boyfriend thing?" Ruff mocks and Astrid shrugs.

"I mean of course…but—Hiccup's too smart to whip out a ring in the near future, isn't he?" Astrid laughs, internally panicking, and Ruff raises an eyebrow.

"Too smart…probably not, too poor, definitely," Astrid sneers at her friend, hugging her stomach.

"It's like a year, what kind of idiot gets engaged after a year?"

"Adults," Ruff answers mournfully.

"That means us now, doesn't it?" Astrid mourns, and Ruff grins with internal rectitude.

"Not _quite_ yet…but I give us…three and a half years before everyone expects us to be mature." They both sit back from the table, allowing the waiter to wedge between them and set their food on the table.

"Wonderful—"

"Astrid? Ruff? What a coincidence meeting you two here!" A too familiar voice announces as the front door slams open, a gust of cold wind sweeping through the restaurant. Both girls whip their heads around, immediately taken aback.

Scott Nout stands like a freezing ghost of the past, holding his side and looking far _bigger _that she remembered him being. God, he'd dwarf even Fishlegs now, turning slightly to fit his too broad shoulders through the door, and letting it swing shut behind him. A couple of girls across the restaurant turn to glare at the jackass that let so much cold air in, but when they see Scott they giggle and blush, gaping openly.

"Scott?" Astrid asks unnecessarily, and the boy beams, sauntering over and pulling up a chair, sitting down as a third wheel at their table for two. "Why aren't you in Kansas?"

"Oh, I got done with finals yesterday, and I thought I might come take my favorite lady to dinner."

"Who's that?" She asks, genuinely curious, and Scott hedges towards her, feeling awkward in his foundered compliment.

"You, _of course_."

"Oh," she fidgets with her too long hair, shaking it out of her eyes with a flick of her head. Her brain throbs and he pushes the sunglasses securely up against her face. "I'm still with Hiccup." She reminds him, and Ruff guffaws, more than a little peeved that Scott hasn't _noticed_ her.

"Oh, I know that you crazy kids are still _dating_, or whatever," he trivializes clumsily and Astrid stares at him, expression blank.

"Is that what the douches are calling it these days?" Ruff asks and Scott pulls a face at her before turning his focus back to Astrid. The shorter girl raises her eyebrows at her friend, sighing at the interruption.

This is bizarre.

"Whatever, boyfriend girlfriend, going steady—"

"What is this, 1955?" She snarks, "Have you been watching Grease again?" He laughs, the insult flowing off of him like water from a duck as he pats her shoulder colloquially.

"Do you remember that time when we were sophomores and I watched that movie 15 times in a week?" He reminisces and she crosses her arms. Ruff sputters in sudden giggles around a mouthful of gooey cheese, forcing herself to swallow the too hot bite.

"How did you even find us?" Ruff questions him, frowning menacingly. Scott shrugs.

"I saw you, yeah that's it, I saw you walking up the hill," he lies unconvincingly and Ruff rolls her eyes.

"Fish told you, didn't he?" Astrid asks with hidden narrowed eyes, and Scott avoids eye contact, looking around the room. She turns to Ruff, "your boyfriend is a traitor."

"No, he's not—" Astrid cuts off her defense with a glare and Ruff sighs. "Sorry."

"So…dinner?" Scott repeats, and Astrid rolls her eyes.

"I'm not even going to be in Boulder, I've seriously got to get home and study—"

"I'll walk you to your dorm room," he offers and she resists the urge to punch him.

"No I'm going down to see Hiccup so he can help me study," she finishes her thought. Ruff nods in affirmation, crossing her long arms and sneering at Scott.

"So you're going to Hiccup's house."

"Kind of my house too," she insists, reminding herself that all Scott knows is that she lived there serving as Hiccup's post-operative nurse.

"So no dinner then?" He asks, tactless and charming with his pearly teeth. Astrid blinks slowly at him, fathoming his brain.

"I'm Hiccup's girlfriend, Scott."

"Fine, I'll stay here and have lunch with you then." He proposes and Ruff sneers. Her stomach growls optimistically and she picks up a piece of garlic bread, thinking. "As like, exes or friends or whatever?" He asks with a shrug and she sighs.

"It's not a date." She affirms, eyeing him carefully, "and you're paying, right?" Poor college student doesn't begin to cover her financial situation.

"Of course, my dad gave me forty bucks to win you back." He pats his wallet and Astrid stares him down, astonished at the words that come out of his mouth.

"Will you give me a ride to my car after dinner?" She asks, and he nods. Ruff looks at her appraisingly and she smiles, satisfyingly evil.

"Or I can give you a ride, if you _know_ what I mean."

"I have absolutely no idea what you mean," she sternly plays dumb, rolling her eyes and smirking at Ruff, who looks astounded at the boy's resilience. "But yeah, if you're paying, stay all you want, eat Ruff's pizza." The other girl glares at her, before reluctantly handing over a slice of pizza.

Free food is free food.

Astrid is glad that Ruff is here, or she and Scott would probably look like a couple. Two handsome young people sitting in a restaurant together, almost close enough to be holding hands. From a distance, the obvious chill between them could probably be blamed on her obvious hangover.

"And plus, Scott, I doubt you want to be around when she and lover-boy reunite…" Ruff teases and Astrid pouts, unable to work up the energy to reach across the table and punch her.

Definitely no more tequila. It makes her weak and brings Scott up from the wood work.

00000

"Thanks again for doing this," Hiccup tucks his almost complete prototype under his arm, smiling gratefully as he accesses the usually locked robotics lab. The TA who let him in requests to see the jumble of metal under his arm and he hands it over, trying not to look nervous.

He tries to act nonchalant as he walks over to the bin of spare parts, finding the belts and cables that he needs and walking over to the TA. The guy hands his project back, nodding appraisingly.

"It's looking good Henry, how much do you have left on it?" Hiccup sets the part down on a workbench, holding it up so that it obviously resembles the dog's leg that it's meant to replace. The joint bends too loosely under its own weight and Hiccup starts running the length of cable that he grabbed around the _ankle_.

"I'm hoping to do this without wiring, but the Ethernet is an approximate density of the thicker cylindrical belt that I need through here," he points at a barely obvious path for something. The TA bends down and looks, nodding.

"So you're just going to calibrate this to weight, right? Like it's only going to work for a dog of a certain size." Hiccup nods, carefully popping open a seam at the back of his design, splaying the leg open as if it were fileted. He wipes a thumb over an unsatisfactorily sanded edge, can put frowning slightly as he pulls a file from his jeans pocket, working on smoothing the corner.

"Yeah, but here," he gestures to the almost scaled appearance of the side of the leg, assembled of multiple metal triangles laced together with simple notches, "this part is completely subjective. You can stack as many or as few scales as you want as long as it ends in the angled point, like this," he gestures, "to lock into the knee rigging." He traces down towards the foot. "The foot is the same for all sizes, but it wouldn't be hard to make a smaller one for dogs under 30 pounds."

"Ok, and the number of times you coil the belt here," the TA points to a spool running central to the knee, "and here," he finds the ankle, "the more weight that it's equipped for?"

"Exactly," Hiccup too casually knocks it off of the counter and grins at its resilience. "And that lets me be really rough with it without worrying," the TA nods impressed, stroking his too bushy beard.

"So this is potentially long wear, like it could go outside and run and all that," Hiccup nods, getting excited as he carefully bends to pick the prototype up, gesturing like he's compressing the knee.

"It should be nearly elastic, I'm almost worried about it being too bouncy, it might throw off the dog's balance."

"It's looking really good, I think you've got an actual shot at this grant," the TA grins and Hiccup nods thankfully. "Who hooked you up with this company anyway?"

"My dad's best friend, he's been working with the company as a test subject for years," Hiccup gestures slightly to his foot, and an expression of understanding blooms on the older student's face. No wonder the kid is so well-adjusted, he had an actual role model in dealing with all of this. "Thanks for all your help with this. Seriously, and teaching me how to solder and weld and everything."

"Eh, it's no big deal. It's not too often I get a physics 100 student who doesn't spend their whole lab time complaining. And this is cool stuff," the grad student grins and Hiccup pockets the rest of the cable that he'd grabbed.

"Are you sure that no one's going to miss this stuff?"

"Nah, it's all too short to do anything else with, you shouldn't have to buy it." Hiccup grins in thanks, carefully closing the back seam of his prototype and tucking it under his arm, its _foot_ resting in his jacket pocket.

"I'll get it submitted next week, and let you know how it goes."

"Sounds good Henry," the TA opens the door and ushers Hiccup out, eager to get to his own studying, "but don't forget to study for Physics, the final looks like a doozy."

"Of course, I'm helping someone study tonight."

"Give practice exam number 3 some special attention, ok?" He offers as a tip and the younger engineer grins thankfully.

"Thanks, good luck with finals."

"You too," the two part ways in the mostly empty hallway, walking towards opposite exits. Hiccup checks his phone in his pocket, blushing mischievously at a text from Astrid. At least she remembered early this time, instead of when they've already locked the dogs out of the bedroom…

He walks a little faster, bracing himself as he pushes outside, ducking his head against the blustery wind. A blonde jockish kid falls into step beside him, knowing by this point to walk slowly.

"So, did you get the stuff?" The kid asks, tugging his hood over his head and tightening it against the wind.

"Stop making it sound like a drug deal, Thuggery, it's cable."

"I was starting to think it was a deal gone bad, you took so long." The boy teases and Hiccup rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, some rival nerds threatened to murder me for three feet of Ethernet cable."

"You made it out alive though?"

"Nah, I'm dead on the floor," Hiccup informs his friend with a laugh, fumbling his car keys out of his pocket as they approach his car in the street.

"I swear, sometimes I think you're my best friend just because of that handicapped parking pass." Hiccup laughs humorlessly.

"You're so _funny_, wow, I'm dying over here," he deadpans, climbing into the car and buckling his seatbelt. Thuggery does the same and they pull out, merging onto a main street and pulling into a drug store parking lot. "So I'll be out in a minute, do you want anything?"

"I'll just come in with you, dude," the boy offers and Hiccup awkwardly shakes his head.

"I'm just getting one thing, I'll be in and out in two minutes—and you're outside." Hiccup sighs, following his friend towards the store with reluctant footsteps, clicking carefully over the semi-icy sidewalk. Thuggery waits inside the door, following Hiccup as he walks towards the back of the store, stiffly remaining casual as he stops in front of the shelf of condoms, grabbing the most immediately accessible box.

"Oh, right, your girlfriend is coming home tonight, right?" Hiccup nods, unsure whether it's better or worse that his friend is acting so…casual.

"Yup, she's staying the weekend…and stuff," he affirms and Thuggery jokingly leans down, grinning at the box.

"Are you sure you don't need more than that?" He jokes and Hiccup glares at him, setting the box on the counter at the front of the store and handing over his debit card silently.

"Do you want me to help you study physics, or not?" The broader boy backpedals as they walk out towards the car, climbing into the warm space.

"Of course I want help. I need you man, I bombed the second test. I'm completely screwed if I don't get at least a B." Hiccup raises his eyebrows, pulling out of the parking lot and setting a course for his house, driving carefully over the icy roads. "So, when is your girlfriend coming over, anyway?" Hiccup grins in spite of himself, shaking his head.

"I have absolutely no idea."

"I don't think you've shown me a picture of this chick, and she's never come down to campus or anything," Thuggery ribs his friend and Hiccup finagles his phone out of his pocket. Handing it over with the wallpaper visible. It's a picture of Astrid, she's glaring at the camera while Spike and Toothless hold her down and attack her with kisses.

"She's really busy, it seems like she's out of town every other weekend for some sort of meet," Hiccup explains, suddenly harried as missing her hits his chest like a hammer.

"No, not this picture. You showed this to everyone at the start of the year," Thuggery complains, handing Hiccup his phone back. "I'm your best friend, show me a legitimate picture."

"That is a legitimate picture."

"I mean a picture of your _real_ girlfriend," the boy asks, obviously trying to avoid making Hiccup feel guilty for faking him out.

"That is my real girlfriend," Hiccup insists warily.

"No way," Thuggery looks at his friend dubiously, snatching the phone back and opening Hiccup's picture album, flicking through the first few, an expression of disbelief on his face. "No way is _that_ your actual girlfriend," he flashes Hiccup a picture of him and Astrid hugging at graduation, disbelief tainting his features. "You're lying."

"Oh, so you have no issue with me having a three-legged wolf as a pet, but a girlfriend is out there?" Hiccup asks, irrationally angry at having his relationship questioned.

"No, I have no problem believing you have a girlfriend," he flashes Hiccup the next picture in his gallery briefly, which is a dimly lit still of Astrid spooning Spike on the couch, napping. Crap, he thought he deleted that one. "It's _that _girlfriend I don't believe."

Hiccup snatches the phone back, pointing at the dog in the picture.

"That's my girlfriend's dog."

"Yeah, I know Spike, I love that dog." Hiccup nods, hoping that he's getting somewhere.

"And that's my girlfriend," the flicker of understanding in the other boy's eyes disappears and Hiccup groans, turning into his long driveway and pulling into the garage in a stewing silence. They get out of the car, walking into the house and enduring the frantic greeting of the two dogs, leaping at their chests.

Thuggery is on the ground, wrestling briefly with the two dogs, his thick arm around Spike's neck as she wags frantically, gnawing at his hand. Toothless paws at his back from behind, nipping at his shoulders before giving up and trotting to sit adoringly on Hiccup's remaining foot. Hiccup scratches his head, playing with the soft points of his short, standing ears, the soft fur tickling his fingers.

"You know I'm not judging you, right?" Thuggery stands, leaving a slightly disappointed Spike to jump at his ankles as he walks to the table, pulling his laptop out of his backpack and getting situated. "She's just…well, she's super-hot dude."

"I know that, seeing as she's my girlfriend."

"She's like…like a Nike-enthusiast lingerie model, or something." Hiccup looks at his friend strangely, flipping open his laptop and bringing up the physics practice exam.

"Physics."

"Yeah, it's loading." He drums on his laptop, eyes flicking from the screen to Hiccup's face one too many times.

"What?"

"Did that girl seriously have sex with you?" Thuggery asks bluntly and Hiccup rolls his eyes.

"Yes, she did." This is stupid, he shouldn't have to be defending this.

"Was she drunk?" He asks, just to be sure and Hiccup snaps, hand smacking against the table.

"No, she wasn't drunk. Seriously, do your fucking homework."

"Like…five times?" The bigger boy asks, strangely cautious around his normally gentle friend.

"Like I lost count, ok?" Hiccup raises his voice, gesturing angrily towards his friend's computer. "Last chance, do you want my help studying or not?"

The conversation thankfully dies after that, and the two get comfortable doing physics tests, discussing the math and cranking through the studying. It's times like these that Hiccup is glad he's living at home this year, times when he can settle in with his homework and Toothless curled on his feet like an oversized kitten.

Sometimes he really wishes he were in the dorms, like the rest of the freshmen, but it's not as if that were ever an option. Not only would communal showers be a little…public for his leg, but it's not like they have handles, or shower chairs. Not to mention the slick tile and multiple flights of stairs to do laundry. Sure, he's spent the night in Thuggery's dorm a few times, when they had to pull an all-nighter or finish a project, but it's not practical for most of the time.

He's visited Astrid's dorm a few times too, but Ruff proved almost too invested, winking and drawling sardonically every time they touched hands.

It's around four, and they're just finishing a fifth practice exam when the door to the garage nearly slams open and Astrid saunters inside, followed by none other than Scott Nout. He's grinning, and looking around the house intimidated while Astrid glares steadfast in his direction. Thuggery shoots his friend a sympathetic look at the huge football player's entrance.

Spike and Toothless charge, Scott flinching away from their frantic love as Astrid kneels, her backpack thunking to the floor as she babbles incoherently, Spike giving her languorous kisses. Toothless head butts her in the chest until she scratches his chin, almost falling backwards with the force of his enthusiasm.

She stands when Hiccup walks over and both dogs curl up by her feet, grinning.

Hiccup flicks on the entryway lights and Astrid flinches, letting her sunglasses mysteriously fall forward to cover her eyes. She slumps a few steps forward, slogging through the pool of dog, and wraps her arms around Hiccup's neck, hugging him almost too tightly as Scott and Thuggery awkwardly nod at each other.

"Hi," she mumbles, pressing her face against Hiccup's shoulder, ignoring his flinch at the sharp edge of her sunglasses introducing itself.

"Hey," he hugs her back a bit stiffly, Scott smiling at him too friendly. "What's Scott doing here?"

"Ugh, he insisted on driving me down," Astrid rolls her eyes, pulling out of the hug and keeping Hiccup's hands in hers as she glares at the football player, as unwelcoming as possible. "But gas money…you know." She explains in a mumble, and Hiccup nods, understanding even if he's not particularly fond of the situation.

"Hey Hiccup, how's college treating ya?" Scott asks and Hiccup shrugs as an answer, nodding. Thuggery clears his throat and Astrid glances over at him before furrowing her eyebrows at Hiccup in question.

"Right, uhh, Astrid and Scott, this is Robert Thuggery, he goes to Mines with me," Thuggery steps forward to shake Scott's hand, both of them gripping to hard in a quest for being the strongest guy in the room. They draw a silent truce, backing away from each other and stretching purple fingers. "And Thuggery, this is my _girlfriend_ Astrid and um…Scott Nout." He introduces awkwardly.

"I'm Astrid's ex-boyfriend. We met up in Boulder and went to lunch—"

"No, you stalked me and Ruff and _encroached_ on our lunch." She insists and Scott looks perplexed. "Ok, you butted your stupid fat head in." She defines the surely mysterious word and he nods, comprehending.

"Astrid, why are you wearing sunglasses inside?" Hiccup asks, tired of trying to read her expression through the tinted glass.

"Tequila," she answers and Thuggery chuckles, earning a fierce glare that quickly shuts him up. "And that idiot definitely didn't help my head," Astrid gestures at Scott, who frowns at her.

"Come on, I don't even get a hug to thank me for the ride?" He proposes and she rolls her eyes.

"You practically kidnapped me." Astrid reminds Scott and he crosses his arms.

"So, are you actually Hiccup's girlfriend?" Thuggery asks and Astrid nods like he's a little slow.

"Yeah, that's why he introduced me as his girlfriend."

"Nice," Thuggery mumbles and Hiccup smiles in spite of himself. Scott frowns.

"Jesus, Astrid, way to make me feel like a fourth wheel," Scott admonishes and Thuggery narrows his eyes.

"Dude, that doesn't make any sense."

"There are four of us, and I was the last one inside, so I'm the fourth wheel," Scott explains confidently.

"But four wheels is a normal amount of wheels."

"What are you, an engineer or something?" Scott asks and the other boy nods. "Oh. Well, she's leaving me out."

"Maybe we should leave," Thuggery suggests and Hiccup nods at him, trying not to seem eager. Scott positively glowers. "Can you give me a ride?"

"Uhh, sure dude," Scott agrees, feeling awkwardly played as Thuggery pats him on the shoulder, ushering him towards the door. The football player follows a bit slowly, turning back to Astrid with raised eyebrows. "You do know that I'm dating other girls, right?"

"Considering you spent half the ride telling me about the KU cheerleaders, I figured." Hiccup stifles a laugh in the back of Astrid's hair.

"Ok. So umm…just so you know."

"Come on Scottie, I've got places to be," Thuggery reminds the bigger boy, walking out into the garage with him in tow.

The silence is wonderful, and Astrid's head falls back against Hiccup's shoulder as she lets herself relax.

"So. Tequila, eh?" He mocks gently, ushering her towards the couch with an arm around her waist. As soon as she sits, Spike jumps up beside her, resting her blocky head in her favorite girl's lap.

"Shut up," she warns, resting her head on his shoulder as he sits beside her. "I learned my lesson, never again."

"Do you want water or something?" He offers, brushing her bangs off of her forehead and carefully plucking her sunglasses off of her face, setting them on the coffee table. The dark circles under her eyes physically pain him and he frowns, brushing a thumb across her cheek. She grins beatifically and scoots closer.

"Well…no, but it'd be great if you'd teach me statistics." He sighs, and nods slowly.

"Of course I'll teach you statistics."

"And I might possibly need someone to edit a final paper…" she hedges, and he smiles sarcastically.

"I see how it is, I'm just a _tutor_—"

"And I absolutely demand a kiss," she grins, her hand wrapping around the back of his neck and pulling his face down to hers, kissing him firmly as the warm welling in her stomach alleviates her headache. She exhales sharply, tugging on his shoulders and pulling herself onto his lap, her tongue tangling with his.

His big warm hand slides down her back, slipping under her jacket and holding her close, pressing her chest against his with tantalizing firmness. Her fingers curl in his too long hair, tugging lightly as he leans in, voracious as his hand slides around to her front, unzipping her fleece and pushing it off of her shoulders. His hand slides down her arm, wrapping tenderly around her wrist and stroking at the tender skin at the base of her palm.

"Well then…" They hear the door shut and pull apart, Astrid glaring habitually at the intruder. Thuggery stands in the entry hall, smiling conspiratorially as he walks to the dining room, picking up his laptop and backpack. "Forgot my stuff."

"Thanks for getting rid of Scott," Hiccup grins at his friend, completely smug.

"No problem, dude, thanks for the physics help," Thuggery grins at Astrid, and she flushes, glare intensifying as she's suddenly impossibly warm, like Hiccup's lap is a furnace. "Nice to meet you Astrid." She nods curtly and Hiccup waves pointedly to his friend.

"Bye, Thuggery, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Ok." He stands awkwardly in the entrance hall, grinning at them as Astrid reddens further, her glare intensifying.

"Leave, dude." Hiccup almost snaps, and the other boy laughs before the door opens and shuts with a click.

"You have school tomorrow?" Astrid asks with a frown, her fingers gripping at the seams of Hiccup's tee-shirt.

"Yeah, and—Oh! I almost forgot! I got the prototype finished for Toothless's leg," he exclaims, tenderly moving her off his lap with an apologetic look and striding across the room, grabbing a jumble of metal and rubber off of the table and laying it on her lap excitedly, tugging it open and showing her the inner construction, including the newly wrapped cable through the core of the mechanism.

"It looks good," she remarks sincerely, despite her inherent disappointment of being usurped by a metal dog leg.

"And check this out," he sets the foot on the floor and leans on it, letting it push him back up, a complicated looking mess of Plexiglas covered springs moving in unison. "It took me weeks to get this right…"

She wipes a hand over her tired face, leaning forward with a smile and following his earnest explanation. Sometimes she can't believe that out of seven billion people in the world, she loves _him_, but sometimes she loves him so much it's transcendent. It comes before hangovers, and embarrassment, and missing him.

As she cooperates, leaning down on the leg, gaping impressed when it shoves her back up with believable buoyancy, the flicker in his still pretty green eyes echoes the emotion.

00000

**So…college check in y'all. I really hope you like this installment, and know that the next chapter is the last! Finally….right? **

**Well, readers are trailing off, so it's probably a finally. Sorry for dragging this out, I just couldn't bear to leave these characters hanging! **

**I also really like this chapter, and I'd like to thank the brilliant ****Midoriko-sama**** for all your help in making this a reality. I hope I didn't mess it up! **

**Anyway, I'd really really love a review, and if I may, I'd like to request something? If I've left anything out, if there's anything at all that you'd like to see summed up, or you feel hasn't been adequately finished off please tell me! I really don't want to leave anything hanging here! **

**So, review and tell me what I'm leaving out…well, besides Astrid's dad, because I'll definitely be giving that a final word! Anyway, seriously, please, I'm counting on you guys to get all those loose ends! **


	41. Chapter 41

00000

Five Years Later

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A crack of thunder echoes through the living room and Astrid yelps, glaring out the window as she bends down, picking up her pencil that had clattered to the ground. She grips it with caffeine shaky fingers, briefly glancing wistfully at the bedroom door before turning back to her book.

She checks her watch, it's seven am. She has 25 hours until her LSAT's.

It was Gerard, definitely who made her decide on the law school track, if only because she liked the fast-talking control of it. She likes the rules, likes the regimented reality of pushing through shit and finding the truth. Her bachelor's is in English, and she's halfway through her Masters in abnormal psychology with a focus in adolescent abuse. Now, she's more geared on helping people than when she started, simultaneously closer to and further from her tumultuous youth than ever before.

And she's going to fight it.

She wants to focus on kids, and dogs, and handicapped people who can't speak for themselves. Being bullheaded to the point of almost impairment is a decidedly _good_ thing when she's fighting for someone else. It won't necessarily pay well, but honestly, she couldn't be less worried about that at the moment.

She taps her twitchy palm against the table, the still unfamiliar clacking emanating from the third finger on her left hand draws her eye. Her eyes widen slightly like they always do as she takes in the sleek engagement ring, row of diamonds sparkling dazzlingly in the half-light of the early morning.

_Engaged_ at 23.

She didn't see it coming.

It's comedy to imagine informing her sixteen year old self that in only seven years she'll be marrying that weird skinny kid she hasn't noticed yet.

_No, not Scott, you're not _that_ stupid. That guy, over there. Next to the blonde gargantuan. Yeah, that one. Yeah, I know, you _could_ break his arm, but trust me, that's not worth the grief that comes with it._

She never would have guessed that she'd be even thinking about forever this young, and she definitely didn't think that it would make her so unbearably happy. It was always something joked about, something everyone threw at her when Fishlegs dragged Ruff to the altar, when her older teammates slowly paired off and settled down. The chronic 'you'll be next' left surreptitiously in the Facebook comments of reluctant bridesmaid photos at Ruff's wedding. It always felt like an executioner's axe, the finish line of her life, looming awkwardly in the distance. She was determined _not _to be _that_ girl.

The one who goes to college and gets her MRS degree, losing her identity and her last name in one fell swoop.

But when he'd tottered carefully onto one knee, the only answer that ever crossed her mind was _yes_.

Ok, maybe '_YES!'_ made an appearance as well.

And of course her acceptance was followed immediately by chewing him out for kneeling, because she knows it's hard for him and it would have been exactly the same answer if he'd stayed standing. Then they'd happily defiled every horizontal surface they could get their hands on, and about half of the vertical ones.

Once that was out of their collective systems, they'd sat down and talked, and he'd explained about the job offer in Boulder County, stemming from the internship he got through none other than Gobber's assistance, and how the pay was no small sum of money. Suddenly everything seemed so remarkably possible, so open with numbers like _those_ dancing through their heads.

When you're used to counting pennies, nearly six figures is like the lottery.

And of course his school offered a fancy combined Masters' program that got him out of school a year before her _anyway_, and she was applying for law schools that she quickly restricted to in state.

Everything fell into place shockingly quickly after that, he'd started working in June and she dove into the second year of her graduate work.

Even though her scholarship ran out after her senior year, a successful stint at world's for indoor track won her a commercial campaign with Nike that paid enough to knock her school options wide open. She was lucky that it came when it did, as well, because an icy slip finally trashed her knee enough to retire her from professional running, at least for the next five or six years.

Sometimes she's glad about it. Her morning runs are leisurely and without the frequently two-a-day practices that defined her undergrad years, time seems _infinite_.

Not to mention that with the expansion of her bank account, she doesn't have to mooch off Hiccup anymore, much to his dismay.

She swears, that guy's only macho streak runs straight through his wallet.

Of course, eventually, he'll be making most of the money, and probably _paying_ for most of the stuff. But she refuses to live off of charity when she's not even working.

Right after his graduation, and her finals, they'd moved into this decently nice, two bedroom rental. It's halfway between Hiccup's job and Astrid's preferred law school at DU. And there's a yard for the dogs, not that they use it as much anymore. Spike's coming up on 10 and Toothless is 8, and most days they both tend towards sleeping in with Hiccup rather than joining her on her run.

She glances at the bedroom door again, melancholy and cold from her post at the dining room table. God, that bed is so wonderfully warm, and Hiccup's probably snuggling her pillow, or Spike has moved into her spot, tucking her back against his chest like she normally does with Astrid. The thunder doesn't seem so jarring when she's wrapped around Hiccup with Toothless weighing down their feet and Spike is pressed against her lower back like a compress.

She could spend _days _like that if work and school and _life_ didn't get in the way.

Another boom of thunder shakes the windows and she squeaks in spite of herself, glaring at the storm and hugging Hiccup's borrowed sweatshirt tighter around her shoulders.

Stupid rain.

Stupid thunder.

Mostly stupid test that has her up this early on her day off.

The bedroom door cracks open a moment later, creaking as it swings slowly on its hinges, the distinctive padding, and clopping gait of Hiccup on a single crutch spilling across the wood floor. Astrid looks up at him, smiling in spite of herself at his gap-toothed, bed-headed yawn. He stops for a moment, adjusting his hopelessly snarled tee-shirt across his chest before continuing her direction.

"How long have you been up?" He asks through a long yawn, shuffling over to sit next to her, leaning his crutch against the table. He dips his head, resting his forehead on her shoulder, sleep-warm skin seductively relaxing as she stubbornly grips her pencil. The words on the mostly blank page of her notebook fight to swirl out of focus and her head throbs irritably.

"Since four," she mumbles, answering yet another practice question with bored strokes of her lead.

"But you didn't come to bed until midnight," he reminds her and she glares at the top of his head.

"I have to know this stuff."

"You do know this stuff," he assures her, warm fingers dancing up her back in the most soothing way possible. She arches into his touch, pouting at the beauty of the distraction.

"Aren't you going to be late to work?" Her attempted snap falls flat and Hiccup smiles into her shoulder, stroking at her spine and shaking his head slowly.

"Nope, took the day off."

"Why?" She asks, secretly relieved that they get the day. Of course it has to be _this_ day, but time with Hiccup is hard to secure these days, what with her school and his work. That's what she misses about high school the most, 24 hour bursts of pure unadulterated Hiccup.

"To make sure you don't over-study again," he looks up with a grin, and she stares steadily at him, too tired to be truly hostile. He laughs at her blank expression, reaching up and stroking the corner of her jaw with long, nimble fingers.

"This isn't funny Hiccup," she insists, immediately regretting her tone as his fingers stop moving on her skin.

"It's kind of funny, considering you're already admitted to DU." She curls her lip at him.

So what if she doesn't necessarily _need_ to take this test again. She's not happy with her results.

"I can do better than I did last time," she tells him, arms crossed in front of her chest as he leans in, sleepily kissing her temple and shutting her review text book with a long arm.

"Yeah, you can do better," he encourages her, "because last time you showed up exhausted and hungry from three days of over-studying." He reminds her and she sighs, dramatically flopping forward onto the table, forehead colliding with the wood with a thunk. She's suddenly small. "Ok, what do you want for breakfast?" He offers, standing with his crutch and hopping around into the small kitchen.

Astrid groans, pathetic and mostly miserable as she slides to her feet, slumping over to the fridge and pulling out half a package of bacon and plopping it onto the counter.

"What's with the crutch, anyway?" She asks, shooing Hiccup away from the stove and slowly putting the bacon in a pan to fry, toes curling in the soft rug on the kitchen floor. The thunder peals again and she jumps, smacking the counter in irritation while Hiccup peers out the window.

"It's still raining?" She nods, throwing the plastic bacon wrapper away with unbelievable slowness.

"Pouring. I can't believe you slept through the thunder," she laughs quietly, "except I can believe it, because it's _you_." He shrugs, shuffling through the living room and peering around the furniture.

"Have you seen my leg?" He asks, finally answering her question about the crutch and she shrugs, grinning.

"Yeah, it's missing a foot though," she jokes and he glares at her.

"You know what I mean," he pivots and sits on the couch, scanning the room.

"You had it on the couch last night." He furrows his eyebrows, thinking back.

"Did I wear it into the bedroom?" He asks, picking up a couch pillow and checking underneath it.

"I don't know, I was in the shower when you went to bed," she recalls, and his hand cups his vaguely stubbled chin, thinking hard.

"Aha!" He exclaims after a quiet minute, leaning far over and tugging his leg out from a pile of Spike's stuffed animals, sitting back down and fiddling with tugging it over his stump. He picks Astrid's ancient teddy bear off of the top of the pile and sets it on the couch, hoping that she doesn't notice Spike has chewed on it. Mr. Fuzzybottoms or something, she refuses to tell him, but he's heard the name in passing a few times. "Your dog buried it in her toys again," he complains, half-joking as Astrid turns the bacon in the pan.

"I don't know why you don't just check her stuff first."

"Because I don't expect it to wander off on its own," Hiccup defends and Astrid snorts, unladylike.

"You'd lose your foot if it weren't screwed on," she mocks and he laughs dryly, standing with a wobble.

"You really think you're funny today, don't you?" He walks up behind her, wrapping his still too long arms around her waist and resting his chin on the top of her head.

"I'm tired and confused," she explains grumpily, leaning back against Hiccup's chest. She stares too concentrated at the bubbling grease in the pan, practice LSAT exam number 1 flashing in front of her eyes like a ghost.

"Do you want me to make pancakes or anything?" He offers, torn between worried and amused as she melts into him.

The last four years have been good for them, her characteristic walls expanding around him, no secrets worth keeping at this point. She leveled out, without the constant fear of home and the catty reality of high school. He came into his own, surrounded by math and science and kindred spirits.

Outside of the small minded adolescent environment of high school, nothing was inherently shocking about Hiccup and Astrid, the couple. Sure, they got a few—ok more than a few—comments about her being too good looking for him, and people were sometimes oddly determined that he should go find some female Einstein to _discuss_ with. But even comments like those are fewer and farer in between as time goes on they remain insufferably together.

HiccupAndAstrid.

Or as she'd probably jokingly insist, AstridAndHiccup.

"No, I kind of just want bacon," she grumbles irritably, hating how long her reply took to make it out of her mouth. She yawns and stretches in a languorous way, her arms wrapping around his neck and arching her back. The comparatively cool band on her finger, pressed into the skin of his shoulder makes him impossibly happy.

He remembers asking his dad for his mom's ring. The way his dad's face lit up made up for every football game Gerard never had to go to. The fact that the ring was a perfect fit made everything somehow sweeter, like a long lost puzzle notching into place.

"Then what am I having for breakfast?" He asks with a laugh, fiddling with the zipper of _his_ hoodie that's resting on her stomach. His fingers dance underneath the thick cotton hem, stroking at the flat panel of her abs, and making her relax bonelessly against him.

"You can have _a piece_ of my bacon," she offers, and he rolls his eyes, stepping away from her slowly and pushing her back onto her feet with a hand on her shoulder.

"A piece?" He asks and she shrugs.

"I'm hungry."

"I'll get some cereal," he offers, grinning as he pours himself a bowl of cheerios, shuffling back around her and grabbing the milk, his shoulders glancing over hers in the too small kitchen.

"You didn't have to stay home from work, you know," she tells him, pushing her hair behind her ear. She's guilty enough letting him work while she doesn't, without keeping him home.

"Maybe I wanted to." He smiles, sitting down with his cereal and eating slowly. Astrid takes the bacon out of the pan, setting it to drain on a paper towel covered plate and starting a pot of coffee. "How much coffee have you had in the last 24 hours?" He asks and she shrugs.

"10 cups? Maybe 11?" The thunder outside booms and her hands shake faster, caffeine withdrawal combining with general antsy-ness from the storm. Spike yelps in her sleep from the other room and Toothless comforts her with a booming snore.

"Well, I'm not letting you study today, so don't bother drinking anymore," he cautions her and she sets down the coffee pot, turning to look at him evenly.

"If I'm not studying, what are we going to do?" He answers with a shrug.

"I think we need to do a whole lot of nothing."

"Nothing?" She raises her eyebrows and he kicks his feet up on the dining room chair across from him. "I need to go to the store."

"I'll go to the store tomorrow," he offers and she sighs, liking that idea more than she should.

"Then what are we going to eat today?" She hedges unenergetically.

They've never moved past the sophomoric arguing for the sake of arguing. It's _fun_ honestly, keeping both of them on their toes, keeping issues from being swept under rugs to jump out later like monsters and destroy them.

"Pizza," he suggests, leaning back onto two legs of his chair. She glances up at him, weighing the lovely option as he opens yesterday's newspaper, skimming the pages. "Hey, there's an article about my dad," he comments, flashing her a picture of the broad shouldered guy she knows all too well.

"That's not exactly shocking, seeing as he was just reelected."

"His first act in the new term is pushing to repeal breed specific legislature," Hiccup grins and Astrid can't help but mimic the expression. Finally. It only took 5 years to gain enough support to get the issue back on the table.

"My God, Gobber is going to be excited." She's been acting as assistant coach back at Berk High a few days a week, and all the man can talk about is starting up another shelter. That and how no one is giving him any reason to pack extra underwear. "Is he still going to want Spike for good press?"

"Probably, do you want to head up to Evergreen for dinner? You can ask, and then get a better LSAT pep talk than I could ever give." Her eyes flick to her cell phone on the corner of the table where she'd pushed it in frustration that morning.

The jig is up.

"Your pep talks are fine, and I think I might be busy at like 5-ish…" Of all the days Hiccup decides to take the day off. The words _sound_ like a dirty secret and Hiccup cocks his head, too loud chewing halting momentarily. "Maybe tomorrow?" She hedges, hoping to skirt the curious look in his eyes.

"With what?" He asks through a full mouth and she shrugs too casually. He can't remember the last time a surprise like this came up, and he has to admit that boring is incredibly nice.

"Er…m-my dad's celebrating 5 years sober. He's been calling me for a couple weeks. Apparently he'll be at Chili's in my old neighborhood at five." She blurts, eating a piece of bacon for vitality.

"How did he even get your phone number?" Hiccup asks caustically and Astrid shrugs, shoulders protecting her neck from an unidentifiable threat.

"I don't know," she hates how meek her voice sounds. Even after all these years, she still isn't necessarily ok with Hiccup seeing her _weak_. "It's five years…"

"You're actually thinking about going?" He asks, barely hiding his exasperation.

He tried to track her father down once. It was about two years ago, the news mentioned him in some abstract way and she fixated on it for weeks, calling Hiccup every ten minutes and asking pointless questions, searching for distraction.

He was so _infuriated_ that she was still dealing with the man, still orbiting his imminent destruction.

Astrid's childhood house looked horribly mundane from the curb, the sad man he witnessed arriving home from work harmless and sad. Hiccup even went so far as to look through the trash, and upon finding nothing suspect, not even an empty beer can, the whole thing became depressing. It was weeks later when he realized that the local sports section had been plucked from each of the trashed papers, probably pasted over Astrid's old bedroom like a serial killer's lair.

Or maybe he's just a proud father.

A really fucked up proud father, but it's hard to ally him with the larger than life monster in his head.

He doesn't know what he'd been intending to do. Talk to him? Threaten him? Sick Toothless on him?

He wasn't what Hiccup expected. He was aging, middle class, and sad.

"Well, yeah, but now I probably won't. I thought you were going to be at work." She crosses her arms, faking nonchalance and leaning back against the counter.

"So it was a secret."

"I was going to tell you," she insists, winning no emotion from his blank face. "When I got home…if I even went."

"You were going to go," he informs her stonily and she glares at him.

"Maybe."

The silence yawns, broken only by the sound of the falling rain on the roof. Toothless snores and Astrid drums her ring on the edge of the counter, the clicking soothing.

"Maybe we should go," he suggests after a quiet minute. Maybe if he goes with her now, she won't be sneaking off to do it herself any time in the future.

Maybe the man isn't as sad as he looks.

"I'm a grown woman, I don't need a _chaperone_," she spits. "Plus, what's going to happen?" She immediately regrets asking, crossing her arms more tightly.

"I'm not your chaperone, I'm your _fiancé_." The word makes them both smile briefly before Astrid forces her face placid and stares at her toes. "Come on. It will be the most belated 'meet the boyfriend' dinner ever." She shrugs, the wave of reason flooding her mind not exactly appreciated.

Sure, she could do this alone and exhausted, and probably end up screaming, or worse, _crying_ like a freaking girl. Or she could take a nap, and go with Hiccup, and be calm, mature Astrid.

Sometimes making sense is horrible.

She hasn't won a fight with her obsessively rational boyfriend—fiancé—in 2 years, and even then it was dubious.

"I still don't think we should invite him to the wedding," she mumbles, petulantly accepting Hiccup's argument and jumping three steps ahead. "Even if it goes ok later."

Wedding. The word is still terrifying. And exciting.

The January wedding date is only three months away now, impossibly close.

"We can make room for another seat, if you change your mind," Astrid shrugs, setting her jaw.

"I mean…that's not—" She exhales, pushing her hair back off of her face, "your dad _cried_ when I asked him to give—you know, give me away," the words are archaic and oddly wonderful when she finally forces them off of her tongue.

"He cried again when he told me about it," Hiccup informs her and she half-smiles, "I don't think he cried when I was _born_."

"I bet he just didn't broadcast it."

"Anyway," he grins mildly, gesturing at the cushy leather couch in the living room. Astrid sees her Mr. Fuzzykins sitting on the pillow and glowers, instantly blaming Spike for moving him. That dog. "You have a lot of napping to do between now and five."

"One condition," Astrid hedges, quirking her head. "Keep me warm?" She asks with a tired smile and Hiccup nods, scarfing the last few bites of his cereal and following her to the couch.

The thunder booms as they settle in, spooning too tightly together on the couch as the lightning lights the dim room. Tucked into Hiccup is the only time that feeling small has ever been good, relaxing even. His hand finds hers, fiddling with the band around her finger as he smiles against the back of her head.

00000

"Are you nervous?" Hiccup asks, pulling into the parking lot and parking meticulously in the handicapped spot, hanging his permit from the rearview mirror.

It's five fifteen, they finally got here, although he's never seen Astrid dawdle so much. She insisted on trimming her toenails at 4:40, and he had to talk her out of taking another shower.

"Of course not," she spits nervously.

"Well come on, or I'm going to _chaperone_ you out of the car," he teases, earning an anxious scowl as she climbs out of the car. Her knees bobble, and she wishes she'd worn her running shoes, her desire for escape suddenly overwhelming. She walks slowly towards the restaurant, every step a battle.

She's more grateful than she should be when Hiccup clacks up beside her, grabbing her hand and squeezing reassuringly.

Sometimes he seems unbearably wise, centuries old and wonderfully stable, steady, and forgiving. This is only ever evident between bursts of adolescent sarcasm.

The restaurant is loud, as it's happy hour, and the businessmen at the counter feel like a bad omen. Hiccup nearly drags Astrid forward to the hostess stand, her mouth a grim line as he tolerates the hostess gaping at his foot. He finally gets her attention and asks about a guy waiting for his daughter. She points them across the restaurant and Hiccup follows her direction, still dragging Astrid. Once they've escaped the throng by the door, he pulls her aside, resting firm hands on her shoulders.

"We can still leave, you know," he tries not to sound hopeful, even though there's nothing he'd rather do than turn around and walk out. The flash of doubt in his too green eyes fans her determination as she walks forward, steps still small and wary, but entirely her own.

"No turning back, right?" He tightens his grip on her hand. That attitude is so inherently _Astrid_ that she feels _summarized. _Condensed to her essence.

"They walk up some shallow stairs and around a corner, winding through rows of booths that seem to be equally split between tired, middle-aged people and even more tired parents with young children. A few kids look curiously at Hiccup's leg and he smiles at them.

It takes all of Astrid's resolve, a culmination of all of those experiences pushing forward towards a distant finish line. When they turn a final corner, walking into the last row of tables, she almost stops, stumbling slightly as she wills herself forward.

He looks _old_. His once blonde hair more silver than gold as he takes a sip from a glass of tea. He checks his watch, and she's seven years old, running late for school. He's yelling and then smiling, teaching her to spell.

He looks up and their eyes lock. He stands.

Hiccup subconsciously expands to his full six feet and Astrid blinks. The ten feet between them feels like miles and inches all at once.

"You came," Alan Hofferson grins, opening his arms for a hug. She doesn't step forward and his hands drop, defeated.

Good. Defeated looks _good _on him.

"I take it that's not Long Island," she points to his tea and he smiles, the expression meek and foreign on his face. She recognizes her strong jaw and forces her face slack, the comparison momentarily unbearable.

"It's peach." She takes a hesitant step forward, hand resting on the back of the empty side of the booth. Left hand. Her malicious joy when his eyes widen at the rock on her third finger is anything but satisfying.

She's not mean like she wants to be.

Her fingers curl in on themselves and she lets go of Hiccup's hand, gesturing awkwardly towards him.

"This is Henry Haddock," she introduces him, quickly sliding into the booth before she can change her mind. Hiccup reaches out and shakes her father's hand, his grip reluctant, and it's simultaneously a dream and a nightmare. She can't help but notice Hiccup's too solemn expression and she wills him to be calm.

Obviously she can't do it.

"Haddock as in _Congressman_ Haddock?" Alan asks and Hiccup and Astrid nod in near unison.

"I'm his son," Hiccup explains awkwardly and Astrid grabs his hand under the table.

"So, you're engaged?" Alan asks with a cross of surprise and the will to force conversation.

"Yup." Astrid pops the p, habitually drumming her ring on the table. The conversation lulls like a corpse and Astrid backtracks. "And I'm a college graduate."

"I saw you at Indoor Track World's last year," Alan offers as a conversational spur and Astrid holds back her sneer.

"Yeah."

"And I saw your commercials." God, those commercials. Those are going to follow her forever, aren't they?

"They paid for grad school," she mumbles, staring at the ketchup bottle like it personally offended her. Hiccup sits silent, wondering why it's important for her so sulk at her father at the same time as he implicitly understands that it _is._

"What are you studying?" Her father asks, and her eyes light up maliciously.

"My Bachelor's is in English, but I'm getting my Masters in abnormal psychology with a focus on adolescent abuse." The air is suddenly so unbearably cold that Hiccup coughs.

"And Henry…what do you do?" The man isn't short on social aptitude as he diverts the disastrous conversation.

"I'm a metallurgical engineer at a prosthetics firm," Hiccup answers, immediately aware of the leg that still feels deadened.

"Oh, wow," Alan's eyebrows raise in an uncomfortably familiar expression of surprise and Hiccup nods, "how long have you been doing that?" God, he has Astrid's eyebrows. Or she has his eyebrows.

Hiccup can't imagine what it would be like to look like him. The wrinkles carved into the otherwise smooth skin of the man's face echo every frown Astrid's ever made. Every glare.

"Just since June…I just got out of Mines with my Masters," he fills in, and Alan looks genuinely interested.

"So…_what_ got you interested in prosthetics?" Astrid glares at her father.

"Oh come on, did you seriously just go there?" She snaps, pushing buttons that she'd hoped to never push again. Maybe she just needs to make absolutely sure that they don't work how they used to.

"What—"

"Come on, use your imagination," she snarks, feeling sixteen and petulant and hating every minute of it. Alan looks remarkably confused and Hiccup squeezes Astrid's hands, shooting her a look.

"I honestly don't think he saw, Astrid," Hiccup mumbles to her before reluctantly looking down. "I lost my foot six years ago."

"Oh…oh." The man realizes the faux pas, reddening dangerously taking a long drink of his tea. The waiter appears around the corner and too cheerfully takes their order. Astrid gets a margarita, despite Hiccup insistently pinching her palm.

She's starting to think that this wasn't a good idea.

She knows who she is now, knows how she reacts, knows what she likes and dislikes. All of these depend on her hating her father. She's Astrid Hofferson, soon to be Astrid Haddock, and she hates her father and loves dogs. She likes juice in the morning, and coffee in the afternoon.

She loves Hiccup Haddock, because he makes her forget everything, makes the world seem simple and bright, if only for bright beaming seconds at a time.

But the man in front of her is a stranger. A humble, aging stranger emanating good will in a way that makes her queasy. Who is she if this is her father?

The waiter reappears, taking their food order and dropping off their drinks. Astrid takes a massive chug of her margarita, pursing her lips and swallowing hard, her tongue curling away from the cheap tequila. Her dad pointedly ignores the drink, and Hiccup stares him down as steadfastly as he can manage.

His gaze says, 'I know what you did.' He aims to accuse, but it seems to fall flat. Pity is the last thing he expected to feel, and he can't tell whether it stems from weakness or maturity.

"So. When is the wedding?" Alan asks, too quiet and Astrid looks up, considerably calmer after chugging the first half of her drink. She'll need another.

"January 25th." She answers with a cursory glance at the ring on her finger. Hiccup's hand squeezes hers under the table.

"23 seems awfully young," her father comments, and the sting of being parented by this man makes her frown.

"It's our sixth anniversary in November," she snips, each word a blade.

He wasn't here for those six years. It's been at least six years since she saw him. She wants him to remember all that time at the same moment as she wants it to go away. She wants everything to be over, an industrial Band-Aid slapped over a wound that was never meant to be.

"And I _will_ be 24," Hiccup comments, humorous at the wrong moments like always. No one laughs and his smile fades. Astrid chugs the rest of her drink, smacking her lips and pushing the glass away from her.

"I'm going to law school," Astrid introduces to the conversation, massaging her temple with the hand not holding Hiccup's. Her father raises his eyebrows and she pulls her margarita glass back towards her, casually licking a strip of salt away from the rim. "I mean, I'm taking my LSAT's again tomorrow, but I'm already in to DU." It's not bragging. It's reality spiraling, suddenly so crystal clear.

"That's great." Alan congratulates mildly, and Astrid waves down the waiter, gesturing her empty glass. "You've done well for yourself. I'm proud of you." The words fall onto unreceptive ears.

Hiccup is content to be a compression prop, at least for the moment.

"I was always self-sufficient," Astrid muses quietly as the waiter sets another drink in front of her, taking away her empty glass.

"You—" Astrid glares sharply, and her father sighs, shrinking and aging at least ten years. "I—I'm trying to fix _this_—"

"What is _this_?" She asks, drinking too quickly, just numb enough not to feel the sting of alcohol in her throat.

"Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?" Alan Hofferson asks, his hands shaking as he watches his daughter drown her feelings. Pity rises in Hiccup's chest like a balloon.

This is so fucked up.

"I think that's the first time you've ever asked me that, ya know?" Astrid muses, faking nonchalance. "It was always what _I_ could do. What I could run, or what I could get for you. How I could flaunt something, how I could make it." She grins sardonically. "You know, how I could help you. With _everything_ you needed help with." The drink tastes all too good and she chugs most of it.

"Astrid, I—" The cathartic urge rushes over her like a tsunami and she leans forward, terrifyingly close, but not fearful as her voice drops to a low grumble, fierce and commanding.

This is the Astrid Hofferson who won the 5000 meter in Buenos Aires a year ago. This is the girl who ran the 3000 meter on the same day, and placed third. This is the winner.

This Astrid didn't exist before Hiccup made her admit that she needed to change, made her want to be good, or at least better.

"Do you have any idea the shit that he got me through?" She gestures to Hiccup, her voice failing her briefly as she focuses on the wood grains of the table. "It's like…those fucking commercials, the ones that ruin your day." She sneers up at him, blue eyes cold and clear, "The ones with those skinny abused dogs, and they're trying to bite everyone, and volunteers start feeding them and they bite them too even—" she coughs, "even though they're helping.

"And then, if you're lucky, they show you that shot of months later, when the dogs area all happy, and you can't see their ribs anymore, and people are petting them and—" She breathes deeply and releases her death grip on Hiccup's hand. His thumb strokes her palm and she focuses on the slow, soothing circling of his touch. "I'm a little less forgiving than a dog. You spend six years making my life miserable, three of them absolute fucking hell," she accuses, and her father lowers his eyes. Coward. "And I've had about six years to get over it.

"I figure that puts us at ground zero," she holds her hand out across the table, fingers remarkably steady, gesture blunt. "One level below acquaintance." She shakes her head, gesturing at her hand extended across the table. "Absolute strangers, but don't assume I like what I've seen so far."

Her father reaches across the table, grabbing her hand and shaking it, his grip foreign and weak beneath her own.

00000

Later that night, the two are curled up in bed, still sticky from the sweat of their previous exertions. The ceiling stares down at Astrid like a gaping mouth, a white sky blinding her sense of contentment. She should be sleeping, nothing is going to make her fail tomorrow like insomnia.

She just can't get it out of her head. Her father's face. His mannerisms.

The ludicrous pride, and politeness, and being treated like a daughter come home, not a still fleeing victim.

She guesses she's not running away anymore, and being sedentary is equal parts relaxing and terrifying.

"Am I brave?" Astrid asks, nudging a mostly sleeping Hiccup in the calf with her toe. His eyes blink open and he turns slowly onto his side, a callused hand landing on her hip.

"What are you still doing awake? You have to be up at six," he worries, reaching up and brushing her still crazy bangs away from her eyes. He runs his thumb across her cheeks, wiping errant crumbs of mascara away from her face.

"Did you hear my question?" She asks, a little peeved as her face heats up beneath his fingers.

"No, I was sleeping," he wraps an arm over her shoulders, warm and reassuring, lulling her out of talking. She reaffirms her will to converse, tossing a lean leg over his hip and tugging herself closer.

"Am I brave?" She repeats the question and he looks at her quizzically.

"What?"

"I said, am I brave?" This time it's a mumble, and she hides her face against his collarbone, pressing her forehead against the sharp line. He hugs around her shoulders, burying his face in the top of her bedhead.

"Is this a trick question?" He jokes, before sighing, falling serious. "You're the bravest person I've ever met."

"I don't feel brave." She admits into his bare chest, her chapped lips brushing against the soft, freckled skin.

"Why wouldn't you feel brave?" He critiques, yawning and kissing the top of her head. "Especially today…"

"I should have, I don't know," she shrugs, pressing closer, hand sliding up to the sharp base of his ribcage. "I'm still _scared_ of him."

Hiccup frowns, his remaining toes curling against Toothless's heaving, snoring stomach. He can't tell whether it's magic, her admitting _fear_ and vulnerability to him, or defeat. The miracle of _her_ slaps him across the face, and it's hard to breathe. She's _his_. It's like having the hope diamond in your pocket, the irrefutable rush of having something so unbearably special.

She feels weak, unbearably fragile in the welcome cage of his arms. He's like a back brace, holding her together, letting her fake it.

Sometimes, high school seems like a bad dream, propped up by a scaffolding of rage and fear.

Hiccup fell on the ice last winter and broke his wrist. In the hospital, all he could focus on was his leg. He fell because of his leg, and he tumbled back into that self-loathing spiral that reminded her of that horrible time when she thought they were falling apart. All she could see was the x-ray. The ghostly lines and bumps of his long-healed break, warped and dim on the translucent sheet.

She can still remember the brittle snap, the feeling of sick power rushing through her nauseous stomach as he sprouted another elbow. She's probably more scared of that girl than she ever was of her father.

At least her father recognized—and loathed—her feelings. He held her as another human being in his mind, even if she wasn't worth _respecting_.

And that was the worst part, she was his daughter, and he was the only one who treated her as a fully formed person, and being human was horrible and painful. Then Hiccup came along, and she wasn't marble to him. The ivory tower was a pile of bullshit and he didn't bother to pick up scraps from the fallen barricade.

He saw the parts of her that her sick father _loved_. The fight, the brain, the stubbornness.

But he looked deeper than that, pulling off the waxy coating and ignoring the chipped paint. He was the first to see a multifaceted person, beating her to the punch by at least a few weeks.

But then, Hiccup sees the best in everybody. He sees the framework, the solid skeleton upon which everything else is hung. The underlying sweetness, the remarkable and mythical silver lining.

Hers just happened to be under one—or twelve layers—of soot.

"Why are you still scared?" Hiccup asks after a too quiet moment, earnestly quizzical. "It seemed like you…took back what was yours tonight."

"After a couple drinks," she laments quietly and he hugs her more tightly.

"Come on, we both saw your performance at New Year's last year, you weren't drunk in the slightest after _two_ margaritas," he comforts and she nods, shrugging.

"I was _different_. Calmer."

"Placebo," he assures her.

"I don't like how he makes me act." She admits, hugging him more tightly.

"You didn't used to like how I made you act either," he recalls and she backhands his bicep with a quiet thwack. "I'm serious."

"I know. Maybe I just wanted to hit you," she frowns, scooting back so that she can look at his face. Spike groans and stretches at her movement, her blocky head twisting to rest on Astrid's thigh. He raises his eyebrows at her and she glares back, not responding to the warm hand on her ribcage.

Half of her wishes she'd gotten dressed _after_, but she was too tired to move.

"I'm _serious_," he insists.

"I know you are."

"I've never seen you more insane than you were when you realized that you couldn't live without this much raw—Violence!" She punches him in the side and he groans, curling in on himself. "See, it pisses you off even now. And I've known what a softie you are for _years_."

"He doesn't _get_ to know what a sof—that. He doesn't get to know that," she repeats herself, steadfast and Hiccup sighs.

"You don't seem very _scared_."

"Maybe scared is the wrong word." She defends, rolling onto her back and crossing her arms, holding herself together. "I'm…I have no control." She admits quietly.

"Sounds like life, Astrid." He mumbles, finding her hand under the covers. "I don't think I've had control over anything since I met you."

"Damn right," she grins jokingly, before sighing. "You're more in control than you think."

"I don't think about it." He admits and she frowns, jealous.

"How can you just _not_ think about it? What if everything goes drastically wrong?" She asks and he digs for an honest answer.

"I've got enough problems without making up issues that don't exist," he shrugs, "I'm missing a foot, I'm twenty-four years old and I'm heading a million dollar project by myself. I'm getting married in a few months, and I have no idea to be a _husband_…or—anyway, I cross bridges when I come to them. Plus, I've already been through one of the shittiest things that can happen to a person, so what can be worse than that?" She thinks on that, holding back the cursory enforcement that his foot isn't an issue, or a problem. Her foot finds his bad knee under the covers, idly stroking it with reassuring toes.

It's just part of him.

Maybe there are thorns that are just parts of her. Not blemishes, just building blocks.

"How do you keep from worrying?" She asks too quietly, tugging the sheets around her chin with her free hand. Her fingers interlace with his, squeezing tightly. Her own horrible experiences aren't comforting, they're still jarring in the back of her mind.

"I think that somewhere in the back of my head, I am worrying, but I've got you," he grins, her direction and she frowns. "How _bad_ could it really be when you're here?"

"You're a sap." She could get behind that sentiment. There's no one who she'd trust more to have her back than Hiccup, and with his brains and her brawn, how much could really go badly?

Going from flying solo to being half of a united front is probably the biggest _relief_ she's ever had.

"I love you," He answers with a grin, and she scoots closer, her messy hair tickling his shoulder. Reluctant thunder shakes the bedroom windows and Hiccup sinks deeper into the bed, impossibly comfortable. Astrid smiles at the remarkable present, the free feeling in her chest, and the unabashed rush of emotions from her face. She's nervous and anxious and tired and so unbelievably happy.

"I love you too."

Life is made of billions of miniscule moments of emotion, strung together like beads on a chain. Moments of hate, moments of love, and moments of destiny that steer a person around and around like an eddy in a raging river. Occasionally, if a person is spectacularly lucky, in between the lightning strikes, a moment is perfect.

00000

**The End. **

**2 years, 41 chapters, 2 embarrassing hiatuses and 2315 (!) life-changing, fantastic reviews. **

**I read every single one, guys, and I couldn't be more appreciative for the support and I'd like you all to know that every kind comment that you left made this story possible. **

**I have to say that though writing this, I've learned so much about myself, my past, and my future, and I hope that it has resonated with all of you in some way. **

**As a final chapter request, I'd like to ask everyone to leave me a few words. Just let me know what this meant to you, if it meant anything at all, why you favorite it, why you stayed with me, if you did. Thank you so much in advance for your comments and thoughts, they seriously brighten my weeks! **

**And I'll see everyone on November 29****th**** for the sequel/midquel, whatever you want to call it! Keep your eyes out for 'Stages of Grief.'**


	42. Public Service Announcement

Hey Everyone,

I figured that you all might want to know that another story in association with Chasing is now posted. And the easiest way to reach all of you was to send out the alert signal here.

It's congruent with Stages of Grief (which is finished if that's what you were waiting for), not quite as angsty and updating twice a week. It's name is Braced, and I'd love it if you all dropped by and gave it a read!

Thank you.


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